


Terra

by msdevindanielle



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdevindanielle/pseuds/msdevindanielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of trying to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D., Skye's past catches up with her, and Coulson must ask for help from the last person anybody wants to talk to. Meanwhile, Fitz has his memories back, so why is he still acting strangely? Set after Beginning of the End. Sequel to Genesis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to have this second installment finished as close to the season 2 premiere as possible, because I now know my story will deviate from canon. But in case I don't finish by the 23rd, I hope everyone can enjoy this slightly (or completely) different take on the premiere. :)

PART TWO

"It's a little bit strange."

Skye was pulled out of her thoughts as Trip entered the Bus's comm room, seamlessly continuing the conversation they'd been having before he'd gone for a beer run. She sat up on the Holocom, abandoning the unrealistic notion she'd had of taking a catnap. "I mean, they're  _exactly_ the same. You really think they're just triplets?" he asked doubtfully. "Come on."

Skye slid to the edge of the table, dangling her legs over the side. "I have heard  _all_  your theories, Trip," she said, grabbing the bottle Trip offered her and taking a sip.

" _And_  Koenig is always mentioning another brother," Trip added, shaking his head. "Every day, another brother. If he brings up one more brother, I don't know what I'm gonna do."

Skye had to admit that she'd also harbored a strange feeling about the situation. But she had a lot more things to worry about at the moment than the fact that every single Agent Koenig she'd met could have been interchangeable with another. "Coulson said we can trust him."

Trip considered her point, but sounded unconvinced when he responded. "There's something fishy going on there, man," he sighed, taking another sip from his beer and turning to see the screen. There were a few moments of comfortable silence as Skye studied the cryptic images displayed in front of her. "You'll go crazy staring at this crap," Trip told her. "What is it again?"

"Not sure," Skye replied, still staring at the screen. "Something Garrett was messing with?" She folded her arms as she moved off of the table. "Coulson put me on it a month ago, searching deep-web contacts, even the Rising Tide, looking for a match." The symbols continued to flash across the screen, almost as if they were mocking her as she stepped closer. "I've got nothing," she sighed, unable to believe that after all that time, she still hadn't been able to find an answer. This was supposed to be her forte, right? She hated being the bearer of unfavorable news to Coulson, especially after he'd entrusted her with more responsibility than she probably deserved. He had enough bad news to deal with as it was.

Coulson himself strode into the room just then. "There he is," Trip smiled as he and Skye turned to face him. "Happy to see you, sir."

"Agent Triplett," Coulson replied. "Skye."

Despite the lack of progress on her most recent assignment, Skye still found herself smiling. As the new director of S.H.I.E.L.D. only just starting to get his bearings, Skye rarely got to see more than a few minutes of Coulson a day. "Sir," she nodded.

He glanced at Trip. "Could you give us a moment?"

Trip held up his bottle. "Watch this," he grinned before sauntering out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Skye watched Trip leave with a smile, happy to see him in a good mood. Not that he wasn't usually in a good mood. In fact, it was hard to find something that didn't completely roll off of his back. But his behavior had been worrying her lately.

"What, no hugs?" she joked, turning back to Coulson. "He was really looking forward to it."

Coulson didn't look particularly amused, so Skye quickly dove into her update. "I've crosschecked the writing from the lab with the new images you've given me," she said, indicating the screen next to her. "It's mostly the same, but the code breakers haven't found any-"

"That's not why I'm here," Coulson interrupted her, and her eyes fell on a small packet of papers he had in his hand. "The Absorbing Man we encountered on the op last month?" he said as he handed them to her. "We think he's resurfaced again."

Skye stared at the document for a few seconds, recalling how May and Trip had run into the assassin while trying to get Ward away from HYDRA. Coulson had forced her to stay behind for the op, insisting it was too personal for her, but had reluctantly admitted afterwards that Carl Creel had probably belonged on the Index. May and Deputy Director Isabelle Hartley had been able to subdue the guy by tricking him into a fountain, but obviously it had only been a temporary solution.

Skye briefly wondered why he wanted her to focus on her Index duty, when HYDRA was a much more imminent threat at the moment. But then it hit her.

"You want me to go down there, don't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"You're the only one who can," Coulson replied, the hint of an apology on his face.

Skye tried not to sound too ticked off. "Is this really what it takes for you and I to get a one-on-one these days?" she scoffed, realizing just now that she'd unknowingly been a part of his strategy, that he'd had more than one reason for keeping her away from that particular room. He didn't answer her, so she decided to ask her own strategic question. "Why now?"

"Because the technology in play warrants it," he responded simply.

The last thing Skye wanted was to be on Coulson's bad side, but she really didn't want this particular assignment either. "And do I have a say in this?" she asked.

His lack of a reply spoke volumes.

"Copy that," she muttered before leaving the room.

* * *

The days passed in the usual way, without any direct contact and in nearly complete darkness. He was still guarded by the same group of people, he was still given the same exact food once a day, and Coulson was still the only one in the rotation that covered his shift within the room. And the days were the same on Ward's end, too. He still woke up uncomfortable, he still never really knew what time of day it was, and he still had to run around or do pushups to take the edge off of his nerves sometimes.

But despite their monotonous nature, the days didn't drag on anymore.

Since that first book had been surreptitiously slid into his cell, Ward had woken up to find a different volume on the corner of the floor every single day. And every single day, without fail, he would read the entire thing, cover to cover, sometimes more than once if he had the time. He never read them during Coulson's shift, and always left the book exactly where he'd found it. But Coulson still switched them out every night.

So while the days had simply blended together before, with nothing giving Ward the desire to even care, now he had something by which to mark the time.

Twenty-eight books. Twenty-eight books in twenty-eight days. And still, out of all of those books, not a single one of them had been on the list Garrett had given him to read as his S.O. It had been a little surprising, but not surprising enough for Ward to refuse reading material.

The volumes varied in subject as well as in nature. Some were biographical memoirs, some were historical fiction, and some were simply tactical instruction manuals. Some were laden with themes of betrayal, others with honor. The selections didn't seem to follow a common pattern, but he had no doubt that each one had been carefully chosen before being placed in his cell.

Ward knew what Coulson was doing. He wasn't stupid. It was just like back at Grissom, a constant inundation of material designed to make him feel guilty. But Ward didn't mind so much this time. Because this time he had the choice every day to pick up the book and read it. He didn't care what it was about. It was something to do, something to immerse himself in.

Something to make him forget about the hellhole he'd been dropped into.

And so when she finally came to his cell one day, actually physically entered into his cell, he couldn't have been more surprised. The copy of  _Ordinary Men_  he had in his hands fell onto the cot next to him as he sat up, unsure if he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. After months of isolation, it wouldn't be that much of a stretch for him to start having hallucinations.

But his hallucination of Skye wouldn't have had emptiness in her eyes when she looked at him, or the gun strapped to her right thigh.

"Just so we're clear, you make any sudden movements or attempt to get up, you're gonna have a nice little nap for three days," she said calmly, her right arm resting casually above the holster. "No warning, no second chance. Nothing but a tranquillizer dart to the chest and a headache from hell when you wake up." Her tone was clinical, as if she were speaking to any common criminal, and there was absolutely no familiarity in her expression. "We on the same page?"

Ward didn't trust his voice to speak, so he held her gaze as he gave her a simple nod. He could tell she'd been trained, probably by May if he had to guess. And he knew that if she felt confident enough to enter into his cell, she also probably felt confident enough to take him on her own. He had no doubt that she could. The Skye he was looking at was utterly unrecognizable from the one he and Coulson had picked up off the streets so long ago. This Skye was guarded, hardened.

Lethal.

"Let's skip the part where you pretend not to know Talbot was HYDRA," she continued, barely acknowledging his acquiescence. "Or that you weren't aware of the little backfired experiment done on this man." She held out a tablet in front of her so he could see the face displayed on the screen. Ward only had time to briefly examine the man's face and the name in bold letters at the top before she lowered the device. "What's their play?"

Ward looked back and forth between Skye and the tablet she held in her hands, completely baffled as to what she was asking him. "I've never seen that guy," he croaked, immediately trying to clear his throat.

"Let's try that again," Skye replied, her expression telling him that he was dangerously close to getting a dart in the chest. "What does HYDRA want to use him for?"

He opened and closed his mouth in confusion. "You think  _I_  know?" he asked, glad to hear his voice no longer sounded like that of a dying frog. "I'm telling the truth."

She scoffed. "You honestly expect me to believe that in all your pillow talk with Talbot you  _never_  discussed this?"

"Pillow talk?" Ward repeated in bewilderment. "I had one conversation with him."

She folded her arms. "And?"

Ward still wasn't exactly sure what that meeting with Talbot had been about. But for some reason he wanted to make sure Skye knew that he wasn't lying. "He offered me a…" he hesitated, unsure what word to use. "Job," he finished uncertainly.

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

Ward shook his head. "I don't know."

"Doing what?" she repeated, any trace of amusement gone from her face.

"Uh…" he stammered, quickly trying to recall the words Talbot had used. "Undercover work…gathering intel…that kind of thing. He didn't give specifics, okay?"

Ward was spiraling, he knew that, much to his dismay. How the hell was this girl able to make him abandon any and all interrogation training he'd ever had? He'd sat through dozens of May's and Coulson's and Hartley's shifts with the resolute determination to keep his mouth shut if they started asking questions. And here Skye was, in his cell for the first time, and he'd caved in less than a minute.

But maybe that had been the plan all along. Starve him of contact for so long that he'd practically ask for it himself. And send in the one person who could crumble his resolve in a heartbeat.

Skye didn't look convinced, though. "Sure he didn't," she scoffed quietly, a bitter smile on her lips. "And let me guess. You never got a chance to find out."

What she'd said was the truth, but Ward had a feeling it wasn't what she wanted to hear. He let his silence answer for him, and before he knew it she had turned around, obviously convinced that he had nothing of value to give her. And he didn't know why, but he suddenly needed her to stay for just a little bit longer. Something told him that she wasn't going to come back, not if he didn't have any useful intelligence for them.

So he said the first thing he could think of. "Look, that guy isn't your biggest threat right now."

She froze near the cell door, and Ward inwardly winced at his poor choice of words. "You wanna talk about threats?" she asked as she spun around, and it was the first time since she'd come in that she actually sounded angry. "HYDRA has literally been  _hunting_  down S.H.I.E.L.D. agents-"

"I'm not talking about a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.," he quickly assured her, shaking his head. "I'm talking about a threat to you."

Again, could he have been any creepier? He blamed his lack of recent social interaction.

"Careful where you step there," she warned him quietly, her right hand resting atop the gun at her side. "I won't hesitate."

He sighed, frustrated that she couldn't understand him. "There are people out there that are gonna be looking for you, Skye," he said, hoping she would take him seriously. Because despite the fact that he was spiraling, he was also telling the truth. And even though he knew she could take care of herself, he also knew that the people searching for her were a lot more lethal than she was.

But the scowl on her face told him she wasn't buying it. "All I'm saying," he finished, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Is just…be careful."

Skye shook her head. "Wow," she said harshly. "You really are a piece of work. You'll say anything to get out of here, won't you?" She turned her head to the side, studying him with a wry smile. "But you don't actually know anything. You were just…HYDRA's puppet the whole time." She turned around again, opening the cell door to leave. "You've got nothing worth my time."

"I have information," Ward insisted, hating the way he sounded but unable to stop himself. "Information you might need one day."

"You keep telling yourself that," she responded without looking back, the door clanging shut behind her. "But don't hold your breath."

* * *

Fitz hurriedly stuffed the papers he'd been staring at for the past hour into a drawer as he heard her footsteps coming in from the back of the lab. He placed his protective glasses on his face and leaned forward over the device, pretending to be deeply engrossed with what he was doing.

The sound of her shoes on the lab floor stopped as she came in through the door, almost as if she hadn't expected him to be there. "Have you not left since last night?" she asked, walking around the lab bench to look at him.

"What?" he muttered distractedly, glancing up from his work. He was surprised to see that she'd recently washed her hair, and that the rosiness in her cheeks hadn't faded like it usually did by the end of the day. "Oh," he said in confusion, looking around for his watch. "No, I-I…guess I just lost track of time. Is it morning already?"

Jemma sighed in mild exasperation, and the look in her eyes told him exactly what she was going to say. "Fitz, you shouldn't be overworking yourself," she admonished him. "Despite your progress, you still sustained a traumatic brain injury, remember?"

How could he have forgotten? It wasn't really something he wanted to discuss, though. "I'm fine," he said dismissively, arranging the objects neatly on the bench in front of him. "Besides, I needed to finish these before we head out."

But Jemma wasn't paying attention to his inventions. "You haven't eaten anything either, have you?" she asked in a disapproving tone as she folded her arms. His face must have given his answer away, because she gasped quietly. "Fitz!"

"Jemma, what the hell?" he laughed, wondering how on earth this girl could worry about him so much. "Okay, could you just stop doctoring me for one bloody second?"

Jemma wasn't laughing with him. "I wouldn't  _have_  to doctor you if you'd simply take care of yourself better," she insisted, and Fitz's smile faded at hearing how genuinely upset she was getting. "Honestly, Fitz, I figured I shouldn't have to remind you to  _eat_  of all things, especially considering your-"

"All right, all right," he sighed, holding up a hand to stop her. On his list of things he didn't want to talk about, his hereditary condition of hypoglycemia was very close to the top. "Might as well take a break, I guess," he conceded.

"Right, you are," she replied sternly before heading out of the lab.

Fitz set down his glasses and quickly caught up with her. "Well, I can't exactly expect to get any work done with you chattering away in my ear, now can I?" he joked.

"Oh, hush," she reprimanded him, but she was smiling as she reached into her bag. "Here," she said, holding out something for him to take. "I was over on the Bus earlier grabbing some supplies and picked one up for you. It's been ages since you've solved one."

He glanced down at the Rubik's Cube in his palm and inexplicably felt a pang in his chest. "That other one," he said as he tried to hide his disappointment. "It got left behind at the Playground, didn't it?"

"You have dozens of them, Fitz," Jemma remarked with a laugh. "What's losing one going to matter?"

Fitz wracked his brain for an appropriate response, one that wouldn't involve him telling her why that particular Cube had mattered to him so much. But thankfully they ran into Coulson on their way to the kitchen.

"FitzSimmons," he greeted them quickly before heading in the opposite direction. "Mission briefing in five," he called over his shoulder.

After Jemma had insisted they grab some snacks from the kitchen, Fitz gathered his supplies in the lab and met everyone else in the main briefing room. Coulson was standing in front of a wide screen, which was displaying both a file from Skye's Index as well as what looked like a series of security photos.

"We've got reports of sightings near a warehouse just outside of Wichita," Coulson announced once everyone had gathered together. "Carl Creel…" he said, gesturing to the man pictured on the screen, "was a HYDRA experiment gone wrong. But if he's shown up again, after having disappeared in a known HYDRA facility, it could mean that HYDRA's found a way to control him." As he spoke, Skye flipped through more images on the screen, showing Creel terrorizing a small Air Reserve base in Indiana. "This man has the ability to absorb the properties of anything he touches. Deputy Director Hartley and Agent May were able to subdue him, but Creel has apparently found a way to return to his original form."

The screen changed to show diagrams of the locations of Creel's last known sightings. "Our mission today is to follow him, see if he can lead us to HYDRA's current base of operations. But make no mistake," he assured them, his grim face reminding Fitz of how Creel had murdered Colonel Talbot with his bare hands. "This guy is deadly. So we will not engage with him unless the situation calls for us to do so." Coulson looked around the room to make sure everyone had heard him before turning to Fitz. "Agent Fitz?"

Fitz gestured towards the table in front of him, where he'd laid out about a dozen handguns, and picked up one of the bullets. "These are Hydration Yielding and Delayed Release Armor bullets, which I designed specifically to incapacitate Creel."

Fitz could almost hear Coulson's inevitable eye roll. "Really, Fitz?" he asked skeptically. "H.Y.D.R.A. bullets?"

"Unlike an ICER," he continued, ignoring anyone who didn't appreciate the painstaking care that had gone into the brilliantly appropriate name, "these bullets break upon contact rather than under the subcutaneous tissue, while still retaining an ICER's stopping power." He set the bullet down and picked up one of the weapons. "The fully automatic handguns shoot out four bullets at a time, and each clip contains ten fluid ounces of water, so you shouldn't find yourselves running out."

One of Coulson's newest recruits, a former mercenary named Hunter, spoke up from the back. "You just described a water gun, mate."

"Oh, is that so?" Fitz replied defensively. He didn't want to point out that the bullets had taken him weeks to design, much longer than he'd anticipated, but this guy obviously needed some further explanation if he compared sophisticated machinery to a toy. "Well, I'll have you know that these bullets can fire out at a speed that-"

"Okay, okay," Coulson interrupted, holding his hands up in the shape of a T. "We get it, Fitz."

Fitz glanced away from Hunter in irritation as Coulson continued. "Each agent will carry an ICER as well as one of these…" he paused, obviously annoyed with having to say it. "H.Y.D.R.A. guns," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'll be accompanying the team on the op, but in the meantime the deputy director will be holding down the fort."

Isabelle Hartley was leaning against one of the briefing tables, her arms folded as she smirked over at Coulson. "Pretty sure I was doing that anyway."

Coulson didn't retaliate, but there was a bit of a crinkle near his eye. "Agent Skye will also be coming, so we'll need someone on Index watch."

"Staring at a computer screen all day?" Hunter asked sarcastically before pointing to the man next to him. "I nominate Iowa."

"For the last time, Hunter," the man replied, closing his eyes in frustration. "It's  _Idaho_."

"Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?"

"She's the one who  _named_ -"

"Hunter," Coulson spoke over them. "I'm gonna have to ask you to remain on base. You're still not an official S.H.I.E.L.D. agent yet, so I need your-"

"Is there even such a thing as an official S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore?" Hunter pointed out. "All due respect, sir, but I thought we were all just trying to get by doing the right thing."

"And that's exactly the kind of attitude I need from my agents," Coulson said. "But I'm still gonna need you to fill out the paperwork. I've been asking you to turn it in for a while now." He didn't bother waiting for a response, and turned to the other man, giving him an apologetic smile. "Idaho, I  _would_  appreciate it if you took Index watch."

Idaho stared at the ground. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"All right," Coulson announced, his eyes scanning the remaining agents in the room. "Let's roll out."

* * *

May leaned up against the south wall of the warehouse, keeping within the building's shadow to avoid being seen. "I've got eyes on the target," she murmured. "He's entering through the southeast doors."

"Copy that," Coulson replied through her comm. "Remember, we just want to see where he goes, if he talks to anyone, that kind of thing. Do not engage him."

"Yes, sir," Triplett said, but May noticed him moving closer to the door.

"Trip, what are you doing?" she asked, taking a step forward in case she had to run.

"Relax," he assured her. "I'm just following him, and I'll stay far enough back so he doesn't see me. But how else are we going to find out what he's up to from out here?"

"Agent Triplett, get out of there. You are not-"

But Coulson stopped giving his order as the sound of Triplett crying out in pain came through the comms. May was at the southeast entrance in two seconds, entering through the door to see that Creel had Triplett in a chokehold. The man must have known he'd been followed, and had hid near the entrance for the first person to wander in. Triplett fought hard against him, but he was no match for Creel, who had absorbed all of Triplett's strength on top of his own.

May quickly raised her H.Y.D.R.A. gun and fired repeatedly, causing Creel to release his hold on Triplett. As Triplett fell to the floor, gasping for air, May continued firing, relieved to notice that Creel's body had started to disintegrate again. "We're gonna need a containment case," she shouted, loading another magazine in order to keep a steady flow of water streaming onto him.

Despite having seen Creel melt before, the sight was still gruesome to behold, and she found herself relieved when FitzSimmons came rushing into the space.

"All right, just keep the water coming," Fitz told her as he and Simmons began using a variety of instruments to collect the puddle that had once been a man. Fitz took care of the larger samples, while Simmons worked dutifully at using a pipet to get all the miniscule droplets, taking care to never let an ounce of water remain in her hands for too long.

The entire process took less than thirty seconds. Fitz quickly closed the lid of the plastic container they'd deposited the water into and placed it within a locked metal box, which was then placed into an additional S.H.I.E.L.D. containment case.

"That should do it," Fitz huffed, looking like he was trying to catch his breath as he pulled out his tablet. Simmons quickly ran over to Triplett, helping him to his feet and letting him lean on her as they made their way back to the van.

"Is it clear?" May asked Fitz, angling herself so that he was closer to the doorway, just in case HYDRA decided to emerge from the darkness this time.

Fitz was busily examining the screen in front of him. "Yep," he finally nodded. "No thermal or electrical activity." He slid his backpack off of his shoulders, taking out the D.W.A.R.F. case. "It's just us now."

"All right," May replied, grabbing Creel's containment case. "I'll take this back to the van. You and Skye examine the area, see if you can find anything tying this place to HYDRA."

"Got it," he muttered, using his tablet to send off one of the bots.

May passed Skye on her way back, and listened carefully as she and Fitz spoke through their comms.

"I'll check upstairs," Skye said as soon as she'd entered the warehouse. "This place is a ghost town. What the hell was this guy doing here?"

"No clue," Fitz replied. "I'm not getting any kind of heat signature, no radiation, nothing."

When May entered the van, Simmons was pulling an ice pack out of the cooler. "All right, just keep that on your throat," she ordered gently as she placed it on Triplett's neck. "It'll help reduce the swelling." Triplett began to nod, but she placed a hand in front of his face. "No, no," she admonished. "Keep your head in a neutral position. And don't lie back either. I don't think you have a fracture, but we wouldn't want to make it worse in case you do."

Triplett looked a little disappointed at Simmons's words, but May realized that it was because he didn't know how to thank her without speaking or nodding his head. Eventually he settled for giving her a thumbs up.

"I'm not seeing anything up here, you guys," Skye reported. "But I'll keep looking around."

"Sir, the D.W.A.R.F.s haven't found anything worth mentioning either. It looks like this warehouse has been out of commission for a while. There's not even…" Fitz's voice trailed off. "Wait, hang on."

"What is it, Fitz?" Coulson asked.

"I don't know, there was just…my tablet just turned off all of a sudden," he muttered, sounding confused. "Oh, well now it's back on," he added sarcastically. "Weird. Skye? Did you notice anything? I think my heat signature device must be acting up because you're not…"

Fitz stopped talking again, probably realizing that Skye hadn't responded. "Skye? Did you go back to the van? You're not showing up on the thermal detector."

May stepped out of the vehicle, looking around the empty street for any sign that Skye had exited the warehouse. And in the silence that followed, May felt her stomach drop.

She ran into the building, her legs tearing her past the abandoned D.W.A.R.F. case in the middle of the main floor. She sped up the only staircase, racing over to where Fitz stood. And even if she hadn't seen the H.Y.D.R.A. gun lying on the floor, her worst suspicions would have been confirmed by Fitz's white face as he stared uncomprehendingly at the tablet in front of him.

"She's gone," he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma tried to force down the panic she felt rising in her chest as she hurried up the warehouse steps. She knew that she had to remain calm, because she knew what she would find when she reached the upper level.

Sure enough, Fitz was pacing back and forth, his lips devoid of all color and his hands on his waist. He spun around quickly as he heard her approaching.

"Do you have the-" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes," Jemma nodded, setting the Golden Retrievers case down on the concrete. Fitz immediately knelt in front of it, fumbling for a few seconds with the clasp before finally getting it open. Jemma gingerly picked up the tablet Fitz had set off to the side and opened up the Retriever program, while Fitz unstrapped the bots.

She was about to send them off when Fitz nearly poked her in the eye with his outstretched hand. "No, don't deploy them yet," he cried, distressing Jemma with how panicked he sounded. He reached out and picked up one of the Retrievers. "Not all of them, at least," he murmured, holding the single bot tightly in his grasp before he gave Jemma the signal to deploy the rest.

"Is that hers?" she asked quietly as the remaining Retrievers flew out of the warehouse.

Fitz nodded, staring at the bot in his grip. "We'll wait to see if she…"

"She will, Fitz," Jemma said gently, moving to stand next to him. But his eyes were far away, and his knuckles were white as he held onto the Retriever.

The Retriever he'd calibrated to specifically respond to Skye's distress call.

After Jemma's sister had had her scare, Fitz had insisted on both Skye and Jemma having their own personal whistles. The device, operating on a particular frequency higher than the threshold of human hearing, would automatically deploy its corresponding Retriever when used. It had originally been designed just in case of an emergency, but Jemma felt the weight of her own whistle on her sternum, heavy with the reasons why she had to carry it. "She knows how important it is," she promised, knowing it was the truth.

His voice cracked as he responded in a near whisper. "Yeah, but what if she can't…" He couldn't finish the thought, and Jemma tried to push back her own dark notions about the possibility of Skye being physically unable to signal them.

"Then the rest of the Retrievers will find her," Jemma assured him, willing him to look at her. "Fitz, they work for a radius of up to a hundred miles. All right? There's no way she's that far away yet."

Fitz didn't respond for some time, his eyes still fixed on the motionless bot in his hand. "I swear, Jemma…" he murmured, shaking his head. "She was there not one minute before. Okay? And she looked at me too, from exactly where we're standing right now." He walked to the edge of the railing, glancing down at the lower floor as if he were imagining what Skye's view had been like before she'd disappeared. Jemma heard the tears in his voice when he continued. "And then I glanced away for just a  _second_  and-"

"Fitz, you stop that right now," Jemma said sternly as she blinked away her own tears, brought on by both her fear for Skye's safety and at seeing how upset Fitz was. She walked over to him and lightly nudged his side, turning him to face her. "How on earth could you have known this would happen? The place was empty."

He still wasn't meeting her gaze, though, his eyes continuing to stare blankly into the distance. "I should've kept an eye on her."

"She can take care of herself, Fitz," Jemma replied, reaching out to gently pry the bot out of his fingers. He didn't resist as she took Skye's Retriever away from him, but she kept her hand on his for another moment. "Now stop your worrying. Let the Retrievers do that."

May's voice came in through the comms, causing Jemma to nearly jump out of her skin. "I found tire tracks near the back entrance," she reported. "They stop at the road."

"FitzSimmons, can you take care of that?" Coulson asked.

Jemma was about to suggest that their time would be best served following the Retrievers' leads, but she was suddenly struck with an idea. She pointed to the tablet Fitz now had in his hands. "We can use the three-dimensional scanner-"

"And feed the information into the Retrievers," he finished, and Jemma was pleased to see the first glimpse of hope on his face. "Yes, of course."

Only taking a few seconds to collect their belongings, Jemma and Fitz raced down the warehouse steps and around the side of the building, Fitz quickly removing the device from his rucksack. He immediately went over to the imprints May pointed out to him, but Jemma noticed with some alarm that his hands were shaking as he tried to adjust the settings.

She leaned over, murmuring quietly so May wouldn't hear her. "Here, do you want me to-"

"I've got it," Fitz interrupted in annoyance before finally managing to get the scanner going.

Jemma stood back up slowly, telling herself he'd only snapped at her because of the stress he was under. But as she briefly glanced over at May, she was surprised to see the older agent looking at her with an inexplicable concern. It was a fleeting moment, no more than a second, but had nonetheless managed to confused Jemma. But she soon realized that the flash of sadness she'd seen in May's eyes had come from the same place as Fitz's irritation, the same place Jemma had been trying to bury deep in the back of her mind for the past few minutes.

Because after all, Skye had grown to be important to all of them.

"Is it in?" Fitz asked, looking up at her as he knelt in the dirt.

Jemma examined the far left screen of the tablet in her hands. "Yes, the bots are incorporating the new data as we speak."

He got up to stand next to her. "And have they-"

"It'll take a few seconds, Fitz," she explained patiently. "They have to search through all of the available databases to find the make and model of the car." She saw that Fitz had started to pace again, and she really wished he wouldn't. It was harder for her to be calm when he was overly anxious.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed May move a few paces away, apparently searching for additional clues as to where Skye might have gone. Jemma stepped closer to Fitz. "But they've hardly completed their search in the area," she reasoned. "It'll all be fine, Fitz. We're prepared for this kind of thing now." He didn't seem to hear her, so she raised her voice a little and drudged up a smile. "And that's thanks to  _you_ , remember?" she reminded him. "The personalized Retrievers were  _your_  idea. When Ellie was-"

"Yeah, I remember how bloody well that went," Fitz scoffed, finally stopping mid-pace to look at her. "This is  _HYDRA_  we're talking about, Jemma," he pointed out. "They don't just take prisoners, okay? Or murder them. They  _torture_  the life right out of you if you don't give them what they want."

Jemma's smile disappeared, and she forced herself not to yell at him. "I realize that, Fitz," she said quietly, fighting back the memories of when they'd found Ellie, half-dead and emaciated after having barely escaped from HYDRA. "But this is hardly the same situation. We're reacting as fast as we can."

Fitz met her eyes just then, and she saw that while he felt bad about the way he'd lashed out at her, he also harbored the same fear that she did. That maybe, even though they were reacting as fast as they could…it wouldn't be fast enough.

Jemma suddenly felt a small vibration in her right palm, and looked down in surprise to see that Skye's Retriever had lit up.

"Oh, thank God," Fitz sighed with relief, quickly taking the struggling bot out of Jemma's hand and releasing it into the air. "She's signaling us." He spun around, speaking into his comm. "Sir? We need to go now."

The white van peeled out of a side street and skidded to a halt in front of them. "Get in," Coulson ordered, only briefly exiting the vehicle to allow May to take the wheel. Jemma and Fitz piled into the back, with Jemma finding her spot in between Fitz and Triplett. Jemma didn't ask Triplett how he was doing, because she didn't want to force him to speak over his throat injury. But she could still see the worry in his eyes as May drove them out of the deserted street.

"Okay, you're gonna want to head back towards the turnpike," Fitz announced, using the information from Skye's Retriever in order to navigate. May immediately took them down one of the busier streets, weaving in between cars as they sped towards the motorway. "Oh, wait, no," Fitz corrected himself. "That's a toll road. Okay, change of plan. Go left up here."

May turned the van so sharply that Jemma had to hold onto the seat in front of her to keep from falling on top of Fitz, and a series of horns blared at them from the oncoming traffic they'd barely missed. May was unfazed, though, zipping along the roads at speeds far above what Jemma figured was the legal limit.

"Yeah, just follow this 'til we get into the city," Fitz sighed. "About twenty miles."

The rest of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence, nobody wishing to voice their unspeakable thoughts. That they may not find her. That their window of opportunity could close at any minute. That their efforts, no matter how quick or skillful, would fail to be enough. Even Jemma felt her forced optimism fade as the seconds ticked by loudly in her head. But when she looked to her right, she saw that she was faring relatively well.

"We'll find her, Fitz," she whispered, reaching over to rest her hand on his. But his eyes were dutifully trained on the screen in his lap, and he didn't bother responding or acknowledging her comment. After a moment, he slipped his hand away from hers and reached up to scratch behind his ear, probably in a poor attempt to pretend like he hadn't simply wanted her to stop touching him. While Jemma tried not to feel hurt by his withdrawal, knowing he was just in a state of panic, she couldn't help but worry about his behavior.

Because the truth was, Jemma had been worried about Fitz for a while. She'd been so relieved when his memory had been almost fully restored to normal, and she had spent so much of his recovery thinking that he would never remember her, that it had admittedly taken her some time to notice the differences. Like the way he'd been laboring away in the lab, to the point where he was barely sleeping anymore and had to be reminded to eat. Or the way he avoided her eyes sometimes when she asked how he was doing. Or the way he always managed to change the subject whenever she brought up his condition or wanted to know what he was working on. The differences were small, yes. Jemma knew that. But when Fitz and memory loss and brain trauma were all involved, even the smallest things could get out of hand if left unattended.

And as Fitz sat next to her, practically a thousand miles away, Jemma knew he was blaming himself for what had happened back at the warehouse. Even though they'd all been there, and even though there hadn't been a trace of HYDRA in the vicinity, she knew Fitz would consider it his fault that Skye had been taken away right under his nose. And as much as Jemma was worried about Skye, she was also worried about how Fitz's presumed guilt would manifest itself, especially if he was shutting her out.

"Are we getting closer?" Coulson asked tightly from the passenger seat, the tense outline of his jaw standing out against his otherwise calm exterior. Jemma couldn't even imagine the kind of turmoil he was going through at the moment. But if she had to guess, it probably wasn't too different from the turmoil brewing in her own chest.

"The signal's getting stronger," Fitz answered, zooming in on the map. "It appears to be coming from the west side. I'd take the next exit if you can."

May swiftly cut off two lanes of traffic in order to make it to the ramp, effectively ignoring the persistent horns around her. She sped along the busy road, passing a series of chain restaurants and shops, and after a mile Fitz spoke up again.

"All right, in here," he ordered, and Jemma tried to squint past the dim windows in order to see where they'd arrived. Her heart sank as she saw the sheer number of vehicles in the car park they'd pulled into.

"The signal's coming from the mall?" Coulson asked doubtfully.

"It's close," Fitz nodded, staring at the screen. "Wait, stop," he said frantically. "Stop!"

If it hadn't been for the safety restraint across her lap, Jemma would have gone straight through the windshield from the force May used to slam on the brakes. All of them immediately jumped out of the van, looking around the crowded car park for any sign of Skye.

"Come on, come on," Fitz muttered, glancing back and forth from the tablet to his surroundings. "Where are you?"

Jemma felt someone nudge her shoulder, and turned to see Triplett pointing to a group of trees in the corner of the car park. There, amidst the leaves, was a Golden Retriever, hovering in a stationary position above a patch of grass. The group tore across the pavement. But even before they reached the trees, Jemma already knew they'd be disappointed.

And as she leaned down to lift the shiny metal object out of the grass, Jemma felt her last remaining bit of optimism fade. Because even though, from an external standpoint, it could have been any old dog whistle, the name etched in careful letters onto the side suggested otherwise. The fear that Jemma had been feebly pushing aside for the last hour now hit her at full force, the implications of the abandoned whistle screaming one horrifying conclusion.

Skye was gone. Along with the only real chance they'd had at finding her.

* * *

Triplett headed towards Homerun's comm/sat room, only pausing to grab another ice pack from the kitchen. He carefully held it up to his neck, enjoying a brief moment of respite before remembering he didn't have time for that kind of luxury.

"Any luck, sir?" he asked as he entered the large circular space, pulling up a chair next to Coulson. The director was staring at the screen in front of him, watching a sped-up video feed of the parking lot they'd been led to in Wichita. Agent Koenig stood off to the side, switching out different angles of the same space as they were displayed on the screen.

Coulson was on the edge of his seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as his eyes searched for any glimpse of Skye. Koenig sighed and answered for him. "The mall security footage cuts out right before the corner of the parking lot," he said, pointing to one edge of the screen.

"Of course it does," Triplett scoffed. "What about satellite?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. sats are still dark," Koenig shook his head. "I mean, we might have been able to get into the NSA's, but…" He trailed off, and everyone knew what he'd left unspoken. The only person that would have been able to hack into the NSA's satellite feed was the one person they didn't have anymore.

"Got it," Triplett nodded, before immediately regretting doing so. He tried not to wince at the pain that had shot through his throat. "So what's our next move, sir?"

Coulson leaned back in his chair, finally breaking his gaze away from the feed to look at Triplett. "Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked.

Triplett was caught off-guard, but soon realized what he was talking about. "It's just a little sore, sir," he assured him. "Hardly something to worry about right now." Coulson's weirdly concerned expression didn't change, though. "I'll rest easy once we get our girl away from HYDRA," he promised.

Thankfully Coulson turned his attention back to their more pressing problems. "That's the thing, though," he said, and Triplett could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "I'm not sure it's HYDRA we're actually dealing with."

Triplett didn't understand. "How do you figure?"

Coulson leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table in front of him. "Well, there was no sign of them at the warehouse, remember? The only thing even remotely out of place was-"

"Creel," Triplett finished, taking care not to nod this time. That was one good thing to come out of the botched mission. At least that menace of a guy was locked away in a box, sinking to the bottom of the Hudson River.

"Exactly," Coulson replied.

"You think he was there as a trap, don't you?" Triplett guessed. "To draw us out."

"Oh, absolutely," he nodded. "But something doesn't add up. I mean, why not just kill us on sight? We were all there, and HYDRA wouldn't pass up an opportunity to assassinate known S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, not when they know we're low on numbers." Coulson shook his head. "HYDRA's got enough leg room now to take hostages, sure. But there hasn't been a ransom note, no phone call, no contact whatsoever. So either she has something they need…or-"

"It was someone else that took her."

Coulson didn't respond, but the more Triplett thought about it, the more it made sense. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. "Well, if that's the case, sir…it could've been anybody."

"I know," Coulson murmured.

"You lot are thinking much too broadly," a voice spoke up from behind them. Triplett turned around to see Hunter, his legs up on one of the other tables in the room and a bottle of beer in his hand.

"You better watch it, buddy," Triplett warned him. "This is one of our own that's missing, and I don't see you offering to get off your lazy ass to help."

Hunter widened his eyes in feigned offense as he took another sip of his beer. "I turned in all my paperwork, mate. And if I'm not mistaken, I  _was_  offering you advice, which you so rudely chose to ignore."

"Get to the point, Hunter," Coulson ordered. "What do you know?"

Hunter swung his legs off the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't know any more about this than you do, sir. But I  _do_  know that you're focusing too much on the big picture."

"What do you mean?"

"I  _mean_ …you need to start with the girl, not with who might've taken her." He rolled his eyes as they continued to stare at him blankly. "What has she been doing for the last few days? Did she leave the base? Did she talk to anyone on the outside? For all you know, she could've just run off on her own, decided she'd had enough of this place."

"Skye's not like that," Triplett argued. "She wouldn't disappear without telling anyone."

Hunter didn't look convinced. "Look, all I'm saying is you need to start with her and work your way out." He sat back in his chair as he took another sip from his bottle. "Because more often than not, the answer you're looking for is right in front of your face."

Triplett glanced over at Coulson, whose lips were in a tight line. "She hasn't done anything strange in the past couple of days," Triplett pointed out. "I don't think she even left the base."

"I think maybe that's the point," Coulson murmured, turning back to Koenig and telling him to bring up Homerun's recent security tapes.

"Now you're getting somewhere," Hunter said with an air of satisfaction, giving Triplett the strong urge to knock the arrogant grin off of the mercenary's face.

But as Koenig found the location and timeframe Coulson had specified, Triplett's attention was brought back to the video being played on the screen. And as they all watched the short conversation, Triplett felt dread settle in his bones. Because while the interrogation had failed to provide them with anything useful, there were a few certain phrases that stood out, phrases that now had even more ominous connotations than they'd had before.

_"There are people out there that are looking for you, Skye. All I'm saying is just…be careful."_

At the time, they'd all just thought he was grasping at straws, saying anything to make it sound like he'd had information. But his words, spoken not even 24 hours before, seemed to mock them as they furiously worked to find out what had happened to Skye. And even though Triplett didn't like one bit of it, he already knew what Coulson was considering.

"Damn it," he muttered.

Triplett shook his head. "Sir, you're not actually thinking of-"

"It's the only lead we've got," Coulson replied quietly, sounding like he was already regretting his decision. He gave a long sigh.

"We're gonna need Ward."


	3. Chapter 3

Skye turned over uncomfortably on the bed, sleepily wondering how Fury could have a seemingly endless supply of secret bases but not enough resources to outfit them with decent mattresses. It was probably a good thing that she'd never actually met the guy, because his terrible sleeping arrangements were just one of the many aspects of his directorship Skye had some choice words about.

She didn't open her eyes right away, because there were few things Skye hated more than seeing 4:58 on her alarm clock and knowing she only had two minutes left of sleep before she had to meet with May. Instead she decided to remain in blissful ignorance, so that when the alarm actually did go off, she wouldn't be more disappointed than usual.

The side she'd chosen still wasn't doing anything for her, though. And for some reason the pillow underneath her head seemed to have disappeared. It must have fallen off the bed in her fitful sleep. Skye groaned quietly, feeling a sharp pain in the back of her neck. Great. If this was how her day was starting, who knew how bad the rest of it would be?

But now that she knew her pillow was on the ground, Skye was positive she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep comfortably. She sighed, turning over onto her other side in a huff.

And unexpectedly felt a tight grip on her arm, yanking it back onto the bed.

Skye whipped her eyes open, all trace of her drowsiness disappearing as she stared in disbelief at the shackle on her wrist. And as her vision adjusted to the darkness around her, she suddenly remembered what had happened before she'd passed out. Walking over to the railing and making a silly face at Fitz. Searching the last remaining corner of the warehouse's upper level. Her eyes widening as she saw something in the shadows. Opening her mouth to yell out to the team.

And then…nothing.

Her senses were on high alert now, listening for the sound of anyone coming. The room she was in was almost pitch black, but after a few minutes she was able to see a little of her surroundings. She was in a cement cell, lying on some kind of cot. But the space was more like a depressingly dark room than a jail cell, and though Skye knew the door was probably locked, there was still the pressing issue of having her wrist chained to the bed.

Her first instinct was to grab the chain that should have been around her neck. But even though she found herself disappointed at the whistle's absence, she couldn't have said that she was surprised.

What on earth had happened? There hadn't been any sign of HYDRA at the warehouse, or anything else for that matter. The only thing off about the place had been the Absorbing Man.

Unless Creel had been a trap. Which wouldn't have been much of a stretch, now that Skye thought about it.

So where was she now? In one of HYDRA's evil lairs? But if that were the case, why had they taken her in the first place? She wasn't like FitzSimmons or Ellie. She didn't have any valuable expertise to give the enemy, scientifically speaking or otherwise. So maybe she knew the locations of some of Fury's bases, or maybe she had information regarding the highly classified Index members. But surely HYDRA would know that she would endure torture to the point of death before giving up S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets.

Because that's what being a good S.H.I.E.L.D. agent meant. Saying "screw you" to the enemy if there was even a chance that innocent lives were on the line. Being humanity's final defense league when all else failed to protect them. Doing the right thing, no matter what the cost. And that's what she  _would_  do.

Right?

Skye decided to cross that bridge when she came to it. Right now she had to focus on one thing at a time. And the first thing she needed to do was remove the handcuff from her arm.

She took a few deep breaths, going to her happy meditation place in order to mentally prepare herself for the coming pain. She sat there for a long time, going back and forth in an argument with herself until she finally decided to just get it over with. Gathering up the sleeve of her shirt, Skye bit down on the fabric as she reached out to dislocate her wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Skye cried out in surprise, nearly breaking her wrist anyways as she spun around on the cot. When she'd glanced around the room earlier, it had appeared empty. But as she squinted into one darkened corner now, she saw the faint outline of a slight figure. The woman stepped forward, and once Skye was able to distinguish her unmistakable features, she shrank back into the bed, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"I apologize for the…less than favorable accommodations," Raina said, continuing to step forward until she was just outside of Skye's kicking range. "We had a much more suitable facility prepared, but unfortunately we had to vacate due to some minor…complications. Once we gather enough funds, we'll be moving to a more comfortable situation."

"Spared no expense on that outfit, though," Skye retorted with a bitter smile. "What are those, Jimmy Choos? A little fancy to be walking around this dump in, don't you think?"

Raina's lips curled into a smile, but Skye saw a dark flash in her eyes. "You might not understand right now," she said quietly. "But you will."

Skye held up her unshackled hand. "All right, I don't know who you think you are, but if you don't get yourself and your weird-ass flower-dress fetish the hell away from me, we're gonna have a major problem." She surreptitiously reached around her back, grabbing her other hand.

Raina's tiny smile disappeared. "If you break your wrist, Skye, all you'll be doing is prolonging the inevitable. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Skye paused for a moment, briefly considering her words. As she thought about it, though, she was more than positive that she could take Raina. Hell, Skye had managed to punch the bitch's lights out without having been trained by the Cavalry. But Raina seemed to know what Skye was thinking. "There are five armed sentries right outside that door, and none of them will hesitate to sedate you."

Skye's hands stilled, and even though the hopelessness of the situation was becoming more and more evident, she managed to keep her scowl intact as she glared at the woman in front of her.

"You've been given a gift, Skye," Raina continued, a strange look of fascination on her face. "A gift very few have had the fortune of receiving. You have the opportunity to be a part of a phenomenon, an evolutionary feat that will change the very course of history."

Skye tried not to show any outward signs of how much she was freaking out. "Does it come with a gift receipt?" she joked. "'Cause I know you mean well, but you see, someone else already got me the creepy new-world, genesis-threatening present, and even though having two would be totally, you know, awesome, I just feel like it wouldn't be fair to all the other-"

"Like I said, Skye," Raina interrupted, her arms folded across her chest. "You might not understand the benefit of what we're trying to do at the moment. But you'll thank me for this one day."

Skye opened her mouth to fire out a series of very unladylike expletives, but the words died on her lips as the door of the room opened behind Raina.

"Okay, what do you-" she began, only to stop as she felt a sharp sting in her arm. She glanced down at the dart in confusion. "You're not…gonna…get away…with…this…" she slurred.

"You mustn't talk right now," Raina was saying as the edges of Skye's vision started to blur. "You need to prepare for your treatment."

Skye tried to say something, anything, preferably something about how that was definitely not going to happen. But she found herself inexplicably sinking back onto the bed.

"Don't worry," Raina said, her voice sounding like it was coming through a tunnel. "The Doctor will take care of you."

Skye felt one last moment of panic, Raina's terrifying words echoing in her ear.

And then she was out.

* * *

Coulson stood motionless in front of the closed doorway, staring at the handle as if he was trying to convince himself to step forward and open it. May was at his side, determined to be there in case something went wrong.

"Years of Academy training," Coulson muttered, pursing his lips together in quiet frustration. "Wasted."

"Phil-"

"Wasted, May!" he cried, looking over at her.

May kept her sigh to herself. "He might not even know anything, Coulson," she reasoned. "You still have the upper hand. The important thing to do right now is to  _stay calm_."

"I'm calm," he replied unconvincingly, turning his attention back to the door.

"You don't have to go in there," she reminded him. "We can still go back to the site-"

"And waste another day scouring for evidence while whoever has her has more time to get further away, or to…" He didn't continue voicing the other possibilities, probably realizing that neither of them needed to be reminded about what could be happening to Skye.

He inhaled sharply. "No, I've gotta do this, May," he shook his head. "And I've gotta do it now. Before I change my mind."

May followed closely behind him, fervently hoping that Coulson would be able to hold himself together. He just needed to remain calm long enough to get what they needed, and then they would be out again. The cell door slammed open as he stormed into the middle of the concrete floor.

"Where is she?" he asked, forgoing any kind of introduction. Oh, boy. May could already tell that this had been a terrible idea.

Ward immediately sat up on his cot, looking a little dazed, almost as if he wasn't sure Coulson was actually talking to him. It was probably an abrupt change of pace, to be left in isolation for months only to have unexpected visitors two days in a row. Visitors that actually spoke to him instead of standing guard outside his room.

He opened and closed his mouth in confusion at seeing their expectant faces. "I-I don't-" he stammered.

But Coulson wasn't satisfied with how Ward's answer had started. "Wrong," he interrupted. "Try again. Where have they taken her?"

Ward's eyes widened as he shook his head, and May noticed the muscles in his shoulders tense up. "Where…where have they taken _who_?"

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't know damn well who I'm talking about," Coulson spat. "You might've thought your little half-assed threats yesterday would go unnoticed, but I bet you're not so quick to pretend you know squat when it comes down to the wire." Ward was still staring up at Coulson in bafflement, and even briefly glanced over at May in an attempt to garner any explanation from her expression. "You claim to have information?" Coulson continued. "So talk.  _Where have they taken Skye_?"

At the mention of Skye's name, Ward froze, and his shoulders slumped forward as he looked off to the side. "They've…" he said after a moment, glancing back and forth between Coulson and May. If May hadn't known better, she would've thought he looked scared, perhaps even concerned. "They've  _taken_  Skye?"

"Oh, my God," Coulson muttered in annoyance, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "May?"

May stepped forward, and Ward automatically leaned away from her. "Look, I don't know," he said quickly, and May saw him instinctively reach towards his left foot as she cracked her knuckles. "Uh...uh…" he stammered, holding up his hands in defense. "There was a set of coordinates, someplace I was supposed to take her or something. But I don't know anything more than that, okay? That's  _all_ she gave me."

Coulson looked over at May, the worry in his eyes telling her he was just as surprised that Ward had actually had information. "She?" he asked skeptically.

Ward seemed confused that they didn't know what he was talking about. "Yeah," he nodded, as if his answer had been the most natural thing in the world. "Raina."

May felt her blood run cold, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Raina?" Coulson repeated loudly. "The girl in the flower dress?"

Ward nodded again, but he didn't look particularly pleased about having the information. In fact, he actually looked a little uncomfortable, and not just because he had Coulson and May within a dangerously close proximity.

It took a second for Coulson to find his words again. "What the hell does  _Raina_  want with Skye?"

May was fairly certain she already knew the answer, so she grew even more ticked off when Ward shrugged. "She's not exactly the most forthright person in the world, so I didn't even understand half of what she said. Something about evolution, though?" he shook his head. "Said Skye was the only one who could help, because of how she reacted to-"

"The GH-325," Coulson finished, his face turning white as he realized Ward might actually be telling the truth. May watched him fold his arms as he assessed the situation. "How do I know you're not lying?"

Ward stared at him in bewilderment. "You think I can make this kinda crap up?"

"I think you can make up a lot of things," Coulson replied.

"Look, the chick's crazy," Ward sighed. "But she's not working alone."

There was another pause before Coulson's faced hardened again. "Okay, you can't just say she's not working alone and then not follow up. We don't have time to mess around. What are we dealing with here? HYDRA?"

Ward shook his head. "Raina was never a true believer. She just used HYDRA to further her own cause."

May knew Coulson wanted to make a sarcastic comment, but she could tell his patience was wearing thin. "Who's she working with?" he asked tersely.

"She didn't say," Ward insisted. "Okay? All she said was…I don't know, that there was some kind of doctor or something that could help Skye."

" _Help_  Skye?" Coulson repeated, probably wondering how kidnapping someone could possibly be considered helping them. "What's wrong with her? Help her how?"

Ward avoided their eyes, looking even more uncomfortable than he had before. "She said…" he began, pausing briefly before probably realizing they'd eventually get it out of him anyways. "She said he could help…wake up something…inside of her," he finished awkwardly, a wince passing over his face.

Over the course of many years, May had developed a stomach of steel. But the implications of what Ward had said, as well as the memory of what Raina had helped do to Coulson, were almost enough to make her lose whatever food she'd eaten that day.

Coulson looked equally as disgusted. "And you were actually going to  _take her_ to these people?" he asked in horror.

" _No_ ," Ward immediately protested, taking in their revolted expressions. But after a moment, May saw doubt in his eyes. "Maybe," he admitted quietly, shaking his head. "I don't know."

Coulson seemed to gather his last remaining ounce of patience. "All right," he chuckled humorlessly. "Since this was obviously what you'd been planning on doing from the start-"

Ward shook his head. "I wouldn't have let them touch her."

Coulson scoffed. "You know, I think you might actually believe that," he said. "Which is why we're gonna try something new." He stepped closer to Ward. "You say you have coordinates? Then you're going to take us to them." May wanted to interject, to stop Coulson from making a rash decision, but she could tell Coulson was getting ready to rant. "And if you're lying," he continued, confirming May's suspicions, "or if HYDRA shows up, or if for some reason you feel the burning desire to try to escape, you will be brought back here to suffer the consequences. And let me tell you," he promised. "This cell you've got here? Paradise compared to the one we've got two floors down. About a quarter this size, some kind of drainage leak in the corner, and the eighth season of The X-Files playing on repeat. Spoiler alert. That's the year when Mulder wasn't there and it was awful."

May fought the urge to roll her eyes, amazed that under their circumstances Coulson could deliver a first-rate threat. But Ward didn't look very concerned, just surprised at the offer he was getting. "And if I'm telling the truth?" he asked quietly.

Coulson folded his arms. "Then you get to come back here and live out the rest of your days, knowing that for once in your life…you actually did the right thing."

* * *

"All right, this is how it's gonna work," Coulson announced, holding out a circular object as soon as Ward entered the Bus's comm room. Ward's eyes were still having trouble adjusting to the bright lights after having been kept in the darkness for so long, but he was still able to recognize the silver bracelet being snapped onto his wrist.

"This look familiar?" Coulson asked. "It's 'cause it is. Only we've added a few little tweaks to it since you last saw it. Electronic devices are still off-limits, so I just wouldn't even bother trying any of that. It comes with a built-in tracker, letting us know where you are at all times. Any attempt to remove this bracelet, or alter its physical makeup, or disable the tracker, will be met with a very unpleasant tasing experience. Are we clear?"

Ward nodded once, knowing that the irony of the situation wasn't lost on anyone else in the room. He was sure they all were remembering the last time they'd seen a similar bracelet, after Coulson had deemed Skye too untrustworthy to accompany them unmonitored.

"Every agent on this plane is your superior officer," Coulson continued, speaking clearly so that everyone could hear him. "If they need information from you, you give it to them. If they ask you to do something, you do it. No buts. No excuses." He briefly lifted up one of his sleeves, showing Ward the watch he was wearing. "Agent May and I both have personal alarms that will tell us if you exit your quarters unauthorized, or if you make any sudden movements within five feet of any member of my team." He straightened his jacket sleeves before meeting Ward's eyes again. "You still following?"

"Yes, sir," Ward replied quietly.

Coulson looked like he was about to tell Ward more about what he was not allowed to do, but at that moment, one of the men that had been on Ward's guard rotation popped his head into the room.

"Hey, boss," he said, seemingly unconcerned with formalities. "I heard you lot were heading out to get the girl. Mind if I tag along?"

"Thank you, Hunter," Coulson responded, giving Hunter a respectful nod. "But I'd actually like you to stick around here."

Hunter's eyes glanced around the room, and he looked like he was trying very hard not to argue with Coulson. "You know, I actually  _did_  turn in-"

"I know you did," Coulson interrupted. "And I appreciate that. I also appreciate your willingness to help. Really, I do. But unfortunately this is a sensitive operation."

Hunter simply stared at him blankly. "Sensitive, so…you're taking the traitor?"

If Ward hadn't been the traitor in question, he might have laughed.

Coulson closed his eyes for a second, probably realizing what he'd accidentally implied. "I understand how it might look," he sighed, an apologetic smile on his face. "But the truth is…I can't keep my eyes on both of you at the same time."

Hunter smiled, but his tone was bitter when he spoke. "Oh, so it's because you don't trust me, is that right?"

"Honestly?" Coulson replied. "Not yet."

"Oh, good," Hunter nodded. "Well, that's a relief. I thought I'd done something wrong. Glad to know it was just my lovely personality that you don't like."

"Hunter…"

"No, I heard you, boss," Hunter said, raising a few fingers up to give a mock salute. "Loud and clear. Have a good time with that tosser," he called over his shoulder as he headed towards the exit. "I've heard getting led by the hand straight into the lion's den is loads of fun."

Ward saw May step closer to Coulson as soon as Hunter was out of earshot. "Why didn't you just tell him you wanted a skilled marksman on base in case HYDRA shows up?"

"Have you  _seen_  how big his head is?" Coulson exclaimed, turning towards May. "Guy could use a slice of humble pie. Besides, I still don't know anything about him." Coulson's eyes flicked over to Ward as he spoke, and Ward didn't think it was a coincidence. "Hartley will do a preliminary assessment while we're gone," Coulson continued. "If he's really serious about being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he'll be here when we get back."

He then walked over to the Holocom, bringing up a map on the screen as he addressed the group. Ward couldn't help but notice that he was the only one standing on his side of the room, and that everyone else was studiously avoiding having to look at him.

"Agent May will be flying us out, using the coordinates Ward gave us," Coulson said, opening a few diagrams and juxtaposing them next to the map. "Agent Simmons, I'm gonna need you to have all your medical supplies at the ready, just in case. Agent Skye's bunk will remain empty, so feel free to move everything you'll need for her in there."

"Yes, of course, sir," Simmons agreed quietly, her eyes downcast. While Ward had a feeling Simmons was upset about the possibility of Skye needing urgent medical attention, he also knew she was probably having a hard time being in the same room with him. The last time they'd been in the same room together, she'd had a mental breakdown and had practically tried to paralyze him. And the time before that, he'd dropped her out of an airplane.

Coulson gave her a nod before going on. "Agent Fitz will be taking care of navigation and security, using the specs of the building located at the coordinates we have. The rest of us will be going in once we arrive, but we'll have to be careful. We don't know what we're going to find in there." He turned to Ward. "Ward, help Agent Fitz analyze the layout of the building and figure out our best entrance and exit strategies. The rest of you, prepare for takeoff."

Ward stood awkwardly in the comm room as the rest of the group filed out, circumventing the table the long way so as to avoid walking by him. Soon he was left alone with Fitz, who was swiveling around the specs on the Holocom and decidedly ignoring the only other person in the room.

Ward took a cautious step forward, and though he knew Fitz would probably continue to ignore him, he also wanted to make sure they had a plan before they arrived. He examined the images on the screen. "Looks like satellite isn't gonna help," he noted, placing his hands on his waist as he sifted through scenarios in his head. It'd been a while since he'd had to think about strategy, but strategy was something that came second nature to him now. "Maybe we can deploy a couple of the Retrievers," he suggested, pointing to one of the building's entrances. "You know, to get eyes inside before-"

Fitz didn't let him finish making his suggestion, though. "All right, listen closely, because I'm only gonna say this once," he said in a low voice before turning his body to face Ward. "You may think you can come back here, all high and mighty 'cause Coulson thinks we need you. Well, guess what?" he asked, absolutely no trace of an apology in his expression as he stepped forward. "We don't. None of us do." He steadily held Ward's gaze, making sure he was being heard. "And we can get Skye out on our own just fine, so if you even  _think_  about going  _near_  Simmons after what you did to her…I'll kill you." Fitz began to move away, but changed his mind at the last second. "And Ward?" he added. "I  _always_ keep my word."

There was a long pause before Ward nodded. "Understood."

"Good," Fitz replied, turning back to the Holocom and effectively ignoring Ward again. Ward remained standing in the room for a few more minutes, but after realizing that Fitz wasn't going to listen to anything he said, he decided to just wait out the remainder of the flight in his room.

He was about to open the sliding doors when Coulson spoke up from behind him. "That's Agent Triplett's bunk now."

Ward spun around slowly, trying not to look too embarrassed. He really should've known better, after all. "Then where should I-"

"There's a mattress in the Cage," Coulson replied. Ward could almost see the hint of amusement in his eyes, but it was heavily masked by disdain.

Ward lowered his gaze from Coulson's and gave a subtle nod before heading over to his new accommodations. As he entered the familiar room, he couldn't help but remember one of the first times he'd been in there. He and Coulson had just picked up Skye, along with her entire van, in order to find out how many S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets the Rising Tide had acquired.

That had been less than a year ago. And now, here he was, a prisoner in his own right, silently wrestling with worry for that very girl's safety.

The disparity between that time and now had never been so stark.

Ward didn't sit down for the remaining hour of the flight, choosing instead to pace as he mentally prepared himself for the rescue mission ahead. Because this time, it wasn't just his own life on the line. This time, he had something to lose. Forget living in an abandoned cell for the rest of his life. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Skye.

"We're ten minutes out," May announced over the comms.

Coulson chimed in soon afterwards. "Everyone in the cargo hold in fifteen."

After gathering himself together, Ward slowly made his way down the staircase into the cargo hold, taking care not to make any sudden movements on the way. He really didn't have to worry too much, though, due to the fact that everyone stayed at least five feet away from him anyways.

Coulson wasted no time before starting to hand out ICERs to the team, pointedly skipping over Ward. "I'll be running point on this," he said, addressing the group. "But Ward will actually be going in first."

Ward felt a mild jolt of panic, realizing that he was about to be jumping into the fray weaponless. But Triplett was the first to speak up.

"Sir, are you sure that's the best idea?" he asked, but Ward figured he was more concerned about Coulson's safety than about the fact that Ward would be unarmed.

"If something goes wrong," Coulson replied, "or if it's a trap, he'll face the consequences head-on. I'll be directly behind him the whole time, but I think without a weapon, he won't be straying too far away."

"Uh…" Ward began, trying to come up with a viable reason to at least be given some method of defense. But Coulson ignored him and continued.

"Agent Fitz will be deploying two of the Golden Retrievers ahead of us, which will hopefully give us fair warning of what we're dealing with. Agent Simmons will be on the comms, giving us real-time info on security as well as giving us medical advisement. Our mission is to get Agent Skye and get out as quickly as possible, with minimal engagement. If there's too much resistance, we'll fall back and come up with a new plan."

He briefly paused, and Ward's panic grew as the reality of what was about to happen began to set in. "Everybody ready?" Coulson asked, meeting their eyes to make sure they were all on the same page, or at least that everyone knew the plan. He nodded before signaling Fitz to open the hold doors. "Let's go."

The group silently made their way down the ramp into the empty clearing May had landed them in. Darkness surrounded them on all sides, and all that could be heard was the quiet rustling of leaves in the trees. The location of the building was unsurprisingly in the middle of nowhere, so the team had the advantage of concealment. But that also meant that so did their adversary.

Fitz sent the bots on ahead of them before quietly guiding the team along their path. "The Retrievers aren't detecting anything unusual, sir," he reported to Coulson. "The coast is clear."

Simmons's voice joined in soon afterwards. "Yes, and there's no one near the back entrance either. It'll take a few moments for the heat signature device to register for the entire building, but you should be able to enter through those doors without any resistance."

"Copy that."

Coulson motioned for the rest of them to follow him to the back doors. As soon as they were close enough, Fitz quickly stepped forward and placed a pick-lock device onto the door before moving a few feet away. The handle blew off almost instantaneously, and the group waited with bated breath for any sign of a triggered alarm. In the seconds of silence that followed, Ward readied himself to enter the building. It was just another op. He had to get in, disarm the opponent, acquire the target, and get out. Simple. Precise. Something he'd done a thousand times before.

But then he remembered this wasn't like those other times. He'd been let back onto the team, but it was only temporary. He might have been able to make it through the op thinking it was just another mission, but the cold disappointment in Coulson's eyes quickly destroyed that idea.

After one final authoritative nod from Coulson, Ward took a deep breath and stepped tentatively into the doorway.

"Clear," he whispered, gesturing for the others to follow him.

"Simmons?" Coulson murmured as they made their way along the hall. "Are you getting anything?"

"There's nothing in the next corridor, sir," she replied. "And…well…actually…" Her voice trailed off, and as Ward listened to the echoes of their footfalls in the building, he felt a sudden sense of dread.

"Simmons…"

"Sir…" she responded, sounding uncertain. "Unless the thermal detector is mistaken…you five are the only ones in there."

The group was in the center of the building now, and still they hadn't met a single guard. With his dread still growing, Ward approached the large laboratory doors, already knowing what he was going to find behind them.

"You mean the only ones in this area?" Coulson asked.

"No, sir," Simmons said as they entered through the doors. Ward guessed that the enormous space had once been a lab, but the place had been swept clean, and there was absolutely no trace of anyone, Skye or otherwise. "The entire building is completely empty."

* * *

Her consciousness went in and out, voices and beeps and other strange noises echoing in her ears. She was paralyzed, unable to even lift a finger against the force of whatever was weighing her down. But she was never awake for long enough to figure out what was going on, let alone cry out for help.

And the pain. God, the pain. It came unexpectedly, coursing like fire through her veins. She tried to clench her teeth together, to do something to brace herself for the waves of agony that kept coming. But she couldn't even whimper. She was powerless.

The exact thing she had worked so hard for three months to avoid.

How useful was the Cavalry's training now? May would never have found herself in the same position Skye was in right now. But then again, Skye wasn't like May, and if she was honest with herself, she probably never would be.

Eventually the pain subsided to a dull throbbing, but Skye's relief was short-lived. Because there was still the terrifying fact that she was far away from where she should have been, in the possession of psychotic people who wanted to hurt her or experiment on her or do God knew what to her. And if she had any say at all, she was definitely not going to die in the hellhole she'd fallen into.

She had things to do. Important things. Things that didn't involve girls in flower dresses or strange doctors operating on her without her consent.

She slowly felt her senses start to come back, at first within her fingertips and then spreading out to the rest of her body. She fought as hard as she could to open her eyelids, and as soon as she managed to lift them, she immediately let out a silent scream.

She was in an enclosed space, just large enough to encase her entire body. And everything was dark, but there was a strange glow shining all around her. Skye had never been particularly claustrophobic, but she absolutely needed to get out of wherever she was. All of a sudden, though, the glow started to grow brighter, and the pain returned, and she lost consciousness again.

She wasn't sure how long it was before she came back again. But when she did, she felt sick to her stomach, and in the far distance, she heard Raina speaking. "She's waking up, Doctor."

"Good," replied a voice that inexplicably made Skye tremble with fear. "Can you get her sitting upright?"

Skye suddenly felt hands on her arms, pushing her up so that her back was against a concrete wall. She tried to fight them off, tried to use any small technique she'd acquired over the last three months in order to get them to stop touching her. But her limbs had turned to lead, and she could do nothing against the force except lean back on the wall. "There she is," the horrible voice continued as she struggled once more to open her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

As soon as her gaze fell on the face before her, Skye promptly leaned over to the side and threw up onto the floor. She cringed away from him, shaking, still unable to completely control her movements. But she had to get away from the man in front of her.

Skye wasn't even sure that what she was looking at  _was_  a man. His face was hideously disfigured, so scarred as to be utterly unrecognizable. But she might not have had so much of a problem with his appearance if he hadn't just subjected her to…whatever she had just been subjected to.

"What…what the hell did you do to me?" she gasped, fighting past the burning sensation in her throat.

The man glanced down at her vomit with disdain before his mouth twisted into a shape Skye thought was supposed to be a smile. "The treatment sometimes takes a while to recover from," he said, his voice grating against her ears like nails on a chalkboard. "I apologize that you appear to be experiencing some of the…less agreeable side effects. But don't worry, my dear," he assured her, giving Skye absolutely zero comfort. "They'll fade away shortly." He stood up to address someone else in the room. "I'll return to monitor her progress."

"Yes, Doctor," Raina replied. "Of course."

Skye still felt like she had spiders crawling all over her arms, even after he'd left. She forced back the panic tears she felt coming on as she turned her head to look at Raina. "Okay, I know you have your issues," she said shakily, trying to get off of the cot, only to find she still couldn't move her legs. "But this is a new level of low, even for you." She pushed herself forward so she could feel like she had some kind of control. "This guy is  _crazy_. What the hell does he want with me?"

Raina hadn't appeared to be paying attention, her eyes still on the empty doorway. But at Skye's words, she seemed to come out of her weird lovesick trance. "He isn't crazy, Skye," she said, meeting her eyes. "Far from it, actually. The Doctor is enlightened."

Skye bit back one of the thousand retorts she had at the ready, deciding to ask a legitimate question. "You keep calling him that. Does this guy have an actual name or is he just big on freaking people out?"

"Very few know his real name," Raina explained, a faraway look in her eyes. "It is one that we do not speak of. We show respect for him by calling him the Doctor."

Skye shook her head. "You know what?" she asked, trying to sit up straighter. "No, because I know all about the Doctor. Okay? FitzSimmons made me sit through, like, a hundred episodes of that damn sci-fi show, and not once did that guy just  _take_  someone and tie them up in a dungeon." Her voice grew stronger as she continued speaking, hoping that maybe if Raina would just listen to some sense she might understand how what she was doing was not okay. "Doctors are supposed to  _help_  people," she cried. "This guy  _sedated_  me, and God knows what he did to me when I was out."

Raina simply smiled, infuriating Skye further. "Oh, but you're wrong, Skye," she told her. "He  _does_ want to help you."

Skye could have laughed if she'd had the strength. "Really?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Raina insisted. "He's been searching for you for a long time, going on and on about the plans he has for you. He wants to help you reach your full potential, Skye. You should be grateful for the care he has for you. He's not so generous with others."

Skye was practically speechless. "Do you realize how absolutely  _psychotic_  you sound?" she cried. "He  _kidnapped_  me, and you're standing there saying that in some sick, twisted way, he actually  _cares_  about me?"

Raina's smile was back, but it was a sinister kind of smile, as if she knew something Skye didn't. Skye suddenly felt sick to her stomach again.

"He should care about you," she responded. "He's your father."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a general disclaimer, all of the dialogue for this story has been written for weeks. I say this not because there are really any spoilers for the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season 2 premiere. Rather, I say this because if you have seen the premiere, there are some parts in the remainder of the story that might just seem rather cruel in light of season 2 events. So I apologize in advance, and I can assure you that it pained me to the point of tears to finalize these last few chapters. But not to worry! I have a happy-ish ending planned, so for those of you who have been sticking around, 1) thank you so much, 2) no really thank you, you're amazing, and 3) rest assured that the pain is only temporary. :)

Coulson barely waited until May had strapped Ward into the Cage interrogation chair before he pounced.

"Do you think this is a game?" he asked, leaning so far across the table that Ward had to force himself not to move backwards. "Because I can tell you right now,  _no one_  is playing along with you."

Ward tried to remain calm, but even if he hadn't been tied down, there was still the problem of the panic and swelling rage threatening to break him. "Look, I  _don't know_  what happened," he insisted, his voice coming out somewhat strangled. "Okay?"

"You  _really_  expect me to believe  _anything_  that comes out of your mouth?" Coulson asked, his knuckles white as he pressed his fists into the table. "Because so far you haven't given me  _any_ credible information. I'm starting to think you're just wasting my time. But don't worry," he promised. "You'll have plenty of time to regret this little goose chase you've sent us on once you see where we're putting you next."

Ward nearly lost it, frustrated that he wasn't being understood. "You wanna talk about wasting time?" he retorted. "The longer you stand there trying to threaten me, the longer it'll take us to find her. And the longer  _they_  have her, the more time they have to…" Ward didn't finish his sentence, trying to keep his last ounce of sanity from being drowned out by his fear for Skye's safety. But the possibilities still hung in the air, and he was certain everyone in that room was thinking the worst.

There was a long pause as Coulson stared him down, breathing heavily from the exertion of dragging Ward out of the empty building and back to the Bus. May was still standing off to the side, and even though Ward could tell she was trying not to interfere, there was a concern in her eyes when she looked at Coulson that suggested she would step in if she deemed it necessary.

"Talk," Coulson finally said in a quiet voice, releasing his death grip on the table and folding his arms.

Ward wracked his brain for something to say, anything to get Coulson to believe him. "Uh...it's been months, right?" he reasoned. "And when I never showed, they had to have known you got to me first. So they took off."

Coulson scoffed. "Didn't have too much faith in you if they thought you'd spill the location, did they?"

"That's not the point," Ward shook his head, although technically he  _had_  spilled the location. "The point is that my capture meant that they were compromised. Whether or not I talked, I still have the information. You'd have done the same thing."

Coulson glared at him before pulling out an ICER. "When I said talk, I meant give me something I couldn't have come up with myself," he replied tersely. "They could still be anywhere.  _Where_  have they taken her?"

Ward wasn't scared of an ICER, but he was terrified of them not getting to Skye in time. "Look, Raina only gave me the one location, okay? I swear."

"Oh, really?" Coulson replied sarcastically. "You're sure Raina didn't happen to mention anything else?"

Ward was about to insist, once again, that he didn't have any more information and that they were getting nowhere. But all of a sudden he froze, remembering the story Raina had told him, the story about the baby. But even Raina had said she wasn't sure it was the same person. And if Ward led them to the wrong place again, he shuddered to think about what could happen to Skye.

Coulson saw his hesitation, though, and his eyes widened. "What else did Raina say?" he repeated, all sarcasm disappearing as he pointed the ICER at Ward's chest.

Ward's body stiffened, and he focused on breathing steadily while he carefully tried to put his words together. "How much do you know about…Skye's history?" he asked slowly.

Coulson looked momentarily thrown. "How much do  _you_  know about Skye's history?" he responded.

Ward knew he wouldn't get away with pointing out that he'd actually asked first, so he took a deep breath. "It could mean nothing, okay?" he began, but Coulson didn't appear to be interested in hearing any kind of preamble. He stepped forward, pointing the ICER at Ward's head now. "She-she was going through the stuff on the hard drive I swiped," he explained quickly. "And she was, I don't know, analyzing Skye's blood or something. And said she thought Skye's DNA could be a match for a baby that disappeared almost twenty-five years ago. Okay? There-there was a village in China in…in one of the provinces or something, I don't…" he sighed in frustration, closing his eyes. "God, what was it again?"

"The Hunan province," he heard May say quietly.

Ward opened his eyes again, taking in Coulson's white face and the worried glance he shared with May. When he turned back to Ward, he slowly lowered his ICER.

"So…so it's true then?" Ward asked in surprise, his astonishment outweighing his relief that they seemed to consider his information viable.

Coulson nodded weakly. "A S.H.I.E.L.D. team was sent in to get her out," he said softly, and there was an incredible sadness in his eyes that Ward had never seen before. "They were slaughtered. Five of them made it back with her, but it was already too late. The entire village had been destroyed trying to protect her, including her parents." He sighed, setting the ICER down on the table. "It's how Skye became an orphan."

Ward had about a million questions, mostly having to do with why an entire S.H.I.E.L.D. team had been deployed for a baby. But there was something that Coulson said that seemed off. "Skye's not an orphan," he replied in confusion.

Coulson and May exchanged another glance. "Uh…" Coulson said, apparently at a loss for words. "What?"

Ward couldn't understand how they'd known about Skye's past but not about its most important aspect. "Skye's  _parents_  were the ones that destroyed that village," he responded, digging his nails into his palms as he tried to quell the rising anger again. "They murdered everyone just to find her."

Coulson's shoulders seemed to drop from the weight of Ward's revelation. "So her parents…they're still out there," he murmured. There was a pause as he seemed to process the information. "And you think Raina…what? Took her to them?"

"I don't know," Ward answered honestly. "She didn't say anything else. But if they're still out there…where do you think they'd be?"

Coulson shook his head. "That village was decimated," he replied. "We checked the sats months ago, and there's still nothing. It's a wasteland."

"Exactly," Ward said, hoping that Coulson would catch on. "It's uninhabitable, making it-"

"The perfect hiding place," Coulson finished, realization dawning on his face. It was a strange moment for Ward, because in that moment Coulson seemed to forget about the seething disappointment he harbored for the man across from him. It was as if, in that moment, he and Coulson were just discussing strategy again, narrowing down possibilities from a seemingly hopeless situation.

But the straps on Ward's arms were a cold reminder that this time was different.

"May," Coulson said after a few seconds. He still kept his eyes on Ward, as if he were trying to figure something out. "Set a course."

May looked conflicted, obviously uncomfortable with Coulson discussing things with her in front of Ward. "It's a long distance to go based on a hunch, Coulson."

"I know," Coulson replied with a sigh, looking over at her. "But it's all we've got. And if these people were willing to murder hundreds of innocent lives just to find her…I'd hate to imagine what they'd do to her once they did."

May held his gaze for a while, probably inwardly battling against all her fear and doubt that he was making the right decision. Eventually she sighed, leaving the Cage without a word to fly them out. As Coulson followed closely behind her, he paused to close the door. And even though he would most likely never trust Ward again, there seemed to be a kind of pity in his eyes, a pity that briefly overcame his misgivings enough to tell Ward that he knew.

Coulson  _would_  hate to imagine what could be happening to Skye right now.

But he also knew that Ward didn't have to.

* * *

The hours crawled by in that darkened room, long hours in which Skye simply stared at the ceiling, or where the ceiling should have been. She didn't toss and turn, didn't move at all. She just remained motionless, hoping that maybe if she closed her eyes she would wake up in her other uncomfortable bed, surrounded by people that she loved. But she couldn't fall asleep.

How the hell could she?

After Raina had left, refusing to give Skye any further explanation after dropping her bombshell, Skye had remained in a state of shock for a good hour. She'd sat there, staring at the locked door, trying to focus on thinking about her escape but being mentally unable to hone in on anything other than that one word.

Father.

 _Her_  father. Alive.

In all of the scenarios she had ever imagined of her parents, in only a few of them had she considered that either could still be alive. But in all of those scenarios, they'd abandoned her. Deserted her for one reason or another. Left her in the care of a small Chinese village that died to protect her. In absolutely none of those scenarios had they still  _wanted_  her, still searched for her.

And in none of those scenarios was her father a psychopath wanting to experiment on her.

It was around that time that the tears had started. She didn't know when they came, or why. She'd accepted a long time ago that she would never find out what had really happened to her parents. She had accepted S.H.I.E.L.D. as her true family, the family that had been protecting her and looking out for her all her life. So why was she sobbing her eyes out, physically shaking on her cot, because of one man, a man she barely knew?

If she was honest with herself, though, she knew the answer. It was because no matter how terrifying her father was, he was still the person she'd spent her whole life looking for. She'd risked everything for him. She'd dropped out of high school so she could dedicate herself further to the search, even living in a van because she couldn't afford anything better. She'd joined the Rising Tide, not only because she believed in the cause but also because it gave her more contacts and more search engines to look through. She'd hopped in Lola that fateful day with Coulson in the hopes that by infiltrating his team she could access her redacted file with S.H.I.E.L.D.

Everything, every decision she'd made until Coulson had told her the truth, had been for her parents. Everything.

Too bad it had all been a waste.

She cried until she couldn't anymore. She cried every last tear she'd ever cried for the man she'd imagined as her father. She cried for every fantasy she'd dreamt of in which her parents had been alive, or had loved her, or had at least wanted her at one point. She cried for those nights at St. Agnes, those nights immediately following the return, after every single foster family had sent her back. She cried for the nights she'd stayed awake in her van, scouring any source she could and trying to ignore the hunger pains in her stomach. She cried for the day she'd discovered the truth about her past, about how countless S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Chinese civilians had given their lives to keep her safe. She cried for all of it.

And then…she stopped. She couldn't have said at which moment she made the decision, but it was made while lying on that cot, her shirt soaked with tears and the sound of silence ringing in her ears. Right there, in that hellhole, she made the decision to never shed another tear for the life she'd dreamt of, for the hopes she'd had while growing up, or for the man who claimed to be her father.

Because she'd found her family. And "the Doctor" sure as hell wasn't going to be a part of it.

She was calm after that, resolved to do whatever it took to get out of there at the first opportunity. She might have to be patient, and she might have to endure being in the presence of that monstrosity of a person for a while, but she was determined. She would get back to S.H.I.E.L.D.

And use all the resources she could find to destroy whatever operation the Doctor was running.

As for the man himself and Raina? Skye knew about some nice little vaults in the deep recesses of Homerun she was sure they'd enjoy.

So when morning eventually came (or it could have been in the middle of night, she really had no way of knowing), and two guards escorted her down a cement hallway, she didn't struggle. She had to wait for the perfect moment to get away. Because if she didn't succeed, who knew what they would do to her when they dragged her back?

The guards led her into another dark room, lit only by a small electric lamp. The remaining furniture consisted of a metal table, much like the interrogation table in the Cage, as well as a chair. Before she knew it, she was unceremoniously dropped into the chair, and a pair of handcuffs soon chained her wrists together. She bit her tongue to refrain from going off on the men behind her, deciding to save her venom for one person and one person only.

When he eventually came in through the doorway, the shadows cast by the lamp only making his face look all the more horrific, she smiled sweetly up at him. "What? Were you afraid I would try to sneak out the window?" she asked with mock surprise, gesturing towards the handcuffs. "Don't you know I'm past my rebellious teenage phase?"

The Doctor smiled tightly and looked down at the floor. "So Raina told you," he sighed, shaking his head. "I have to admit, I had quite another introduction planned. But that's unimportant," he said dismissively. "What's important is that you're here. You're finally here."

"Um, fat chance," Skye chuckled. "I hit the legal emancipation age a  _long_  time ago, buddy. You really think I'm gonna stick around for this?"

He still had that sickening smile on his face, but even Skye could tell he was losing his patience with her. "I realize that my…absence must have been difficult for you. And for that, you have my most heartfelt apologies."

Skye's fake smile completely disappeared. "Well, you know what? You can take your sick excuse of an apology and shove it right back up your-"

"I know you must be feeling frustrated right now," he spoke over her, and she forced herself to be quiet. She needed to hear what he had to say, not out of any kind of respect for him, but just in case he gave anything away. She'd seen enough movies and encountered enough sociopaths to know that they tended to reveal a lot of their plan prematurely. "But what I'm telling you is the truth. That's all I've ever wanted for you, to help you uncover the truth about who you really are."

"I know who I am," she replied evenly, despite the fact that that wasn't entirely true. "I sure as hell don't need you to tell me."

"Yes, but do you know all of yourself?" he asked, his almost breathless voice giving Skye the creeps. "Do you know all of what you can be? All of your true nature?" He stepped closer to the table, and Skye dug her heels into the floor to keep from cringing away. "You have  _so_ much potential inside of you, my dear. And your treatment has only unlocked that potential. Soon you will discover how to use it yourself, and I have no doubt in my mind that you will."

Skye glared at him. "Sorry to disappoint, doc. But all I've got after whatever the hell you put me through is an upset stomach and a  _ton_ of daddy issues."

"Oh, now you're just lying to yourself," he replied, that sinister smile still going strong. "It's true, not everyone can go through the process. We've failed many times in the past, laboring and laboring to discover the perfect conditions for treatment. In fact, I think you've met one of those failed experiments, quite recently if I'm not mistaken."

Skye was momentarily baffled, but soon she understood. "Creel," she whispered. "HYDRA never messed around with him. It was you."

"It was an unfortunate incident," he admitted. "He ran off and tried to reverse the effects of the treatment, but he only ended up hurting himself more at that lab. And then, of course," he sighed again, "he went and got himself captured. But even HYDRA didn't know how to contain him. How could they? He's the only one of his kind."

"You talk as if you weren't the bastard that made him that way," Skye commented bitterly. "So you experiment on innocent people and then refuse to take responsibility for what happens afterwards? Your other offspring might get a kick out of that, but I gotta say I'm not a fan."

The Doctor chuckled in response, a sound that nearly made Skye throw up whatever she had left in her stomach. "If I'm not wrong, the people you've surrounded yourself with adhere to that philosophy much better than I do." He took another step forward, his disfigured face becoming more illuminated by the small lamp. "Because your reasoning is flawed, my dear. I  _do_  take responsibility for my work, and I always ensure that failed experiments are put to rest."

"That's a  _person_  you're talking about," she spat. "A person that  _you_  turned into a…a monster. And if it hadn't been for  _us_ , he would've gone on terrorizing people, and…and…" Skye paused, the implications of what they were talking about finally starting to hit her. "You  _wanted_  us to find him," she said in disgust. "You wanted us to take care of him because  _you_  didn't know how." She scoffed. "And you got bonus points for me being exactly where you wanted me to be."

The Doctor was smiling again. "You're a clever one, aren't you?" he remarked. "You get that from me." He placed a hand on his chin, apparently lost in thought. "There's a phrase your people here on Terra have," he continued. "It's one I quite like. 'Killing two birds with one stone,' I think is how it goes. Has a poetic ring to it, don't you think?"

"I've got some poetry of my own if you'd like to hear it," Skye muttered.

But the Doctor ignored her. "Every failed experiment has only been a stepping stone to perfecting your treatment," he insisted. "And our last failure only confirms what I knew before, that only genetically perfect individuals may undergo the process." He leaned forward on the table, resting one scarred hand on the metal while gesturing towards her with the other. Skye used all of her willpower to keep her hands in front of her. "It took me  _so long_  to get it  _just right_ ," he continued, staring at her with disturbing pride. "And I finally did," he shook his head. "And you…oh, you were perfect."

Skye was about to throw out another sarcastic remark, but there was a sudden switch in the Doctor's expression. He straightened his back, and for the first time since she'd met him, she saw a flash of unadulterated anger on his face. "So imagine my…disappointment when you were taken away from me," he said quietly. "After all I did for you. I  _never_  wanted to abandon you," he promised her fiercely, leaning in close again. "No,  _you_ were taken from me. I  _tore apart_  this place to find you, but they still took you away."

Any triumph she might have had about him giving away their location was completely erased by the bile she felt rising in her throat. "You…" she growled, nearly unable to speak. "You're not just a mad scientist. You're a  _murderer_.  _All_  those people you killed-"

She couldn't continue, completely stunned that she was in front of the man that had systematically crossed off everyone that had tried to protect her. An entire village. Agent Linda Avery, the woman who'd dropped Skye off at St. Agnes and ensured her lifelong protection. All those agents sent in to investigate a simple 0-8-4. All but one, dead. Because of her. Because of the monster across the room from her.

And this monster was her  _father_?

"You were supposed to prepare for your treatment your entire life," he replied in irritation. "And instead  _they_  took you and tried to turn you into one of  _them_. But you'll never be one of them. It's not in your nature."

"And what exactly is  _my_  nature?" Skye hissed. "Huh? A murderous psychopath like you?"

"All will be revealed in time," he smiled, making her clench her fists together in fury. "But you're a lot more like me than you realize."

"I don't care what you do to me," she vowed. "You are  _not_  my father, and I will  _never_  give you the satisfaction of becoming whatever the hell you want me to be."

His smile didn't disappear, but there was a small twitch near his jaw. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. After all, I'm only helping you uncover the truth. And that's all you've ever wanted, isn't it? The truth?"

Skye fell silent, realizing that this monster had been watching her for longer than she'd thought.

"Yes, you understand," he grinned. "I can see you do. And it's true," he said, straightening up again. "The abilities one can gain vary from treatment to treatment. But if my calculations are correct, I'm sure you'll demonstrate some very impressive achievements."

The Doctor then motioned for the two guards behind Skye to leave the room. As they filed out, Skye's dread only increased. If she had to choose anyone to be left alone in a room with, this guy would not have even come close to making the list.

"It's just you and me now," he smiled, stretching out his arms. "So take off the chains."

Skye stared at him blankly. "Come again?"

"Oh, come now," he scoffed. "Surely it's what you've wanted to do this entire time." He rested his hands on the table. "You can do it, I know you can. The power lies within you. It's already been unlocked. All you have to do now is open the door. Harness it. Let it consume you. Then you will be truly be free."

Skye couldn't stop herself. She knew she wouldn't make it out. But now she just wanted to spite the bastard.

"You asked for it, pal," she whispered coldly before promptly yanking her left wrist out of its socket. She didn't scream, didn't even cry out in pain, making sure her expression remained exactly the same. She quickly slid the cuff off of her left hand and stood up out of the chair, taking a swing at the Doctor with her right arm.

But he sidestepped away from her easily, and actually looked mildly disappointed. "No," he sighed.

Skye knew she could take him. He was taller than her, yes, but she'd been trained. She knew how to do this. She mentally prepared herself to jump onto the table, ready to use it as a launching pad. But all of a sudden she stumbled, her eyelids bizarrely beginning to droop.

"We'll try again tomorrow," she heard his voice in the distance as she collapsed. And before she lost consciousness, she felt cold hands on her back, lowering her to the ground.

When she came to again, she bit down on her lip in agony, a hiss escaping through her teeth as she felt a searing pain shoot through her left wrist. She was back in the chair, only this time her wrists were bound to the handles with rope. She might have appreciated the haphazard handiwork that had gone into wrapping the break while she'd been out. But again, there was a rope tying her broken bones to a chair.

She glanced up towards the doorway, where the Doctor was unsurprisingly staring at her. He had his arms folded, and looked the exact opposite of amused. "That was quite a stunt you pulled yesterday," he said quietly, stepping forward. "They've taught you well. But that was something you could have done before. I want to see what you can do  _now_."

But Skye was through with this guy. She was starving and smelled disgusting and her damn wrist was broken, so she channeled all of her anger and tried the one thing she'd wanted to do since May had told her the story. She immediately stood up, chair and all, and in a fit of rage used every last ounce of her strength to slam her back against the wall.

The chair didn't break completely, but the force was enough to crack off a couple of the legs and loosen the rope around Skye's wrists. She easily squirmed her way out, forcing herself not to wince at the pain in her left hand. She stared down at the chair in disbelief. She couldn't believe she'd actually done it. May had told her the tale long ago, back during one of her first missions, of how an ex-assassin-turned-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had managed to take out an entire group of men, all while being tied to a chair. Skye hadn't believed it at first, but Coulson had told her the same story a few weeks later, saying that he'd had the honor of listening to the attack over the phone.

Skye hadn't used the chair to knock anybody out. But she was still pretty impressed with herself that she'd gotten as far as she did. She was only granted a moment of triumph, though, before she felt herself drifting off again.

"You can do better than this," the Doctor was saying, sounding like he was speaking to her from underwater. "You're denying your true nature."

When she jerked awake again, her whole body was in agony. Not only did she still have a broken wrist, but her limbs and back also ached from the effort of running into the wall. She was no longer tied to a chair, thank God. But she was on the cement floor this time, and when she looked up at the door, it was Raina staring down at her.

"Have I told you how much I just love your…taste in men?" Skye coughed, trying to push herself off the ground. "Really, you know how to pick the winners."

Raina was livid. "You're only embarrassing yourself now, Skye," she replied coldly. "The Doctor  _chose_  to help you, and you're spitting in the face of that charity."

Skye opened her mouth to respond, but Raina came closer and raised her voice. "Your treatment is  _not a right_!" she continued, and Skye was fairly certain that she'd never seen Raina so openly upset before. "You might have something that  _no one_  else has, but make no mistake. Your treatment is a  _privilege_ , a privilege that  _should_  have been earned through struggle and hardship."

Skye kept her eyes on Raina's as she shakily stood up. "Guess you didn't quite make the cut, huh?" she said, purposely taunting her. "I bet that  _sucked_  for you. All that loyalty, all the work you did, and he chose  _me_. Well you can  _have_  it, bitch. Because I don't want it."

Raina didn't take the bait, though. She seemed to have calm down from her earlier outburst, plastering a tight smile on her face. "The Doctor thinks you haven't truly been challenged yet, and I agree with him. Your true nature will only reveal itself when you don't have time to think about it."

Skye shook her head. "I don't…" she began, but as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room, she realized what Raina had meant. Three guards surrounded her in the small space, waiting patiently for their signals. And so while Skye knew she probably only had a few brief seconds to prepare, she also knew that Raina had been partially right. It was this moment, in which she'd have to act upon instinct, that would show whether or not May's training had actually helped. And it was this moment that would prove to herself and everyone else that she had what it took. They could beat her and starve her and not give her water, but she would be damned if she didn't go down fighting.

Raina held her gaze for another moment. "Defend yourself," she ordered before turning around and heading out the door.

Skye barely had time to process the click of the lock before the first guard was on her. She turned into him, easily blocking his outstretched arm, and kicked him in the groin, moving so that she could swing around onto his back. His knees buckled underneath him, and there was a loud thump as his head hit the concrete floor.

She quickly jumped up again, hearing another guard behind her and using her momentum to slam the back of her head into his. He cried out in pain, and she spun around so that she could send a roundhouse kick to the side of his neck.

So far, she'd been fine. But there was still one guard left, and Skye was starting to feel her adrenaline surge fade. She was weak, weaker than she'd been in a long time. She wasn't sure how long she'd gone without food or water, but she knew it was much longer than it should have been, and there was still the whole part where she didn't have complete use of her left arm. But she had to continue. She couldn't give up now.

This was her make-or-break moment.

As the last guard sized her up, probably shocked that she'd managed to knock out his comrades so quickly, she felt the edges of her lips curl upwards. Maybe she could try a different tactic.

Without thinking, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms tightly around the guard's torso. He gasped in surprise, and before he could recover, she slid her foot under his legs, knocking him off of his feet. He was on the ground in seconds, but she kicked him one more time in the groin for good measure.

She'd scarcely finished before the Doctor was in the room, screaming at her. "No!" he shouted, motioning for two additional guards to pin her up against the wall. He leaned in close to her as she writhed under the force on her arms. Despite being nearly unconscious, she couldn't help but think of the irony, how this side of the Doctor was probably his "true nature."

"No!" he repeated angrily. "No, you were supposed to be  _mine_! Mine, not hers!"

His words weren't making sense, coming in her ears jumbled and twisting around her consciousness. But she caught onto one. "Hers?" she asked weakly.

The Doctor sighed as he stepped away from her, breathing heavily. "She needs more incentive," he said, his voice much calmer than it had been a moment before. "I didn't want to have to resort to this," he told her. "But you've given me no choice."

And just like that, she was out again.

* * *

Jemma paced in front of the lab bench, unable to sit still. She'd quadruple-checked all of her medical supplies, had fluffed the pillows in Skye's bunk a dozen times, and had written out an extensive to-do list to perform once Skye arrived. Because she  _would_  arrive. The team would rescue her and she would be fine and Jemma would take care of her like she always did.

Anything else was unthinkable.

But even after making sure everything was prepared, they still had another ten hours before their estimated landing time. So Jemma was in the lab, as usual, pacing. Meanwhile, Fitz had managed to litter his entire workspace with what looked like every piece of machinery the lab possessed.

"Why China?" she asked for probably the third time. "I mean, it's just so  _far_ , and how do we know we're even going to the right place? The last location turned out to be a bust. Who's to say this one won't as well?" Jemma knew she was rambling, but sometimes it helped to voice her concerns, especially when she was trying not to focus on how bloody worried she was. "And it's not like we were even given an explanation or anything. It was just…'We're off to China,' without any kind of rationalization or reason."

Fitz sighed exasperatedly, nearly dropping the screwdriver in his hand. "Coulson told us what we need to know," he muttered without looking up from his work. "We just have to trust him. Now could you stop distracting me?"

Jemma froze mid-pace, glancing over at Fitz with concern. "Fitz, what more could you possibly be doing at this point?" she asked gently. "You've been playing around with all that for hours, but you need to rest. When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm  _fine_ , Simmons," he replied in irritation. "And if you  _must_ know, not only am I making sure all the D.W.A.R.F.s and Retrievers are calibrated correctly, I'm also trying to make the heat signature device cover more area. So yes, there  _are_  plenty of things that still need to get done, thank you very much."

Jemma slowly made her way around the lab bench, pausing to stop just next to him. She knew he didn't like to be touched while he was working, so she kept her hands on the edge of the table as she spoke quietly. "Fitz, all of your devices  _are_  calibrated correctly," she assured him. "And the thermal detector will do the job just fine." He didn't respond, didn't even look over at her.

She sighed, reaching over to one of the other benches for the Rubik's Cube she'd set off to the side earlier. "Well, if you're not going to stop working, can you at least take a break?" she reasoned, holding out the brainteaser. "It might help to take your mind off things for a little while."

He still didn't look up from his work, but he grabbed the object out of her hands and flung it across the room, making her jump involuntary. "Will you _stop_  with the damn Cube, Simmons?" he cried, pressing his fists into the bench and closing his eyes.

Jemma was speechless, incapable of comprehending his behavior, let alone of trying to find something to say.

Fitz sighed after a few seconds, and picked up the screwdriver again. "I'm trying to work here," he said quietly. "So if you're not going to shut it, could you kindly go somewhere else please?"

Jemma took a deep breath, fighting back her tears. Because she knew he was only stressed out. She knew he hadn't meant to blow up at her. But she also knew that until they'd completed the mission he would be nearly inconsolable. And her being there in the lab was probably only making it worse for him.

She silently walked over to the corner where Fitz had thrown the Cube, picking up a few of the pieces that had broken off and placing them on the counter. Before she left the lab to go upstairs, she turned around. "We're all worried about Skye, Fitz," she said softly, the doors opening behind her. "Just remember that."

She walked through the doors, refusing to look back so he wouldn't see her tears.

"Jemma…" she heard him say, but she was already halfway up the steps. He'd apologize to her later, but only when she was ready. Only when she had the strength to tell him he didn't have to.

As she reached the top of the steps, she quickly ran her hands under her eyes to make sure there was no evidence of her tears. And it was a good thing she did, because just after she opened the door, she nearly ran right into Triplett.

"Hey," he said, lightly nudging her arm. "How's he holding up?"

Jemma forced out a small smile. "He'll be all right," she replied. And because she knew what his next question would be, she immediately changed the subject. "How are you?" she asked. "Is your throat feeling better? Do you need any paracetamol or-"

"I'm fine, Simmons," he laughed, heading down into the cargo hold. "Don't worry about me."

She watched him descend the staircase before making her way towards her bunk. "Someone has to," she murmured.

* * *

When Skye awoke again, she automatically knew that something was wrong. Of course, in all the other times she'd woken up in this place, the situations hadn't exactly been right. But this time was worse.

Because she couldn't breathe.

She tried to sit up, tried to figure out where she was. But something hit her head as soon as she did, and she was forced to return to her original position, lying down on her back. As she placed her hands in front of her, she realized that she was in some kind of wooden box.

What the hell? This wasn't like the enclosed space she'd been in before, the one with the weird glowing. At least then she hadn't felt like she was suffocating.

She tried to move around, but she was met with the same wood all around her. She weakly kicked her legs out at the surface, hoping that maybe she could manage to force it open. But it didn't budge. Instead, Skye heard something outside the wood, something that sounded like leaves rustling.

Or the shifting of dirt around her.

When she finally figured out what had happened and where she was, she bit down on her hand to keep from screaming. Because she knew she didn't have enough oxygen for that kind of luxury. Because she wasn't just in any old box, trying to find her way out.

She'd been buried alive.


	5. Chapter 5

Ward was well aware that the flight time to China was over half a day. He was also well aware that absolutely no one on that plane wanted to be in the same vicinity as him, and for probably good reason. But these things didn't change the fact that he was still strapped to the Cage interrogation chair with nothing to do but sit in silence and nothing to think about besides what would happen when they landed.

He'd done the patient part before. After all, he'd sat in a darkened cell for months with practically no contact and no company but his own thoughts. For God's sake, he'd lived in the wilderness before, fighting to survive while he'd waited for Garrett to return and complete his training. But being patient was something else entirely when Skye's life hung in the balance, and when her rescue hinged on his ability to be at the top of his game.

Thankfully, Ward was familiar with all of the nooks and crannies of the Bus Cage. So after five hours had passed and still no one had returned, he decided to take his chances with Coulson's irritation. With a little wriggling, he managed to slide to the edge of the chair and lift up one of his legs. It took a few tries, but eventually he found the panic button on the other end, and began pressing it repeatedly with his foot. He wasn't sure if he was executing the correct amount of pressure, though, so he kept trying until after about half an hour Coulson opened the Cage door.

"You rang?" he asked sarcastically, looking like he'd just spent thirty minutes trying to unsuccessfully ignore the beeping in the comm room.

Ward quickly lowered his foot, sitting up straight in the chair. He cleared his throat. "Um…permission to leave the Cage and prepare for the op, sir?"

Coulson stared him down, but the lines near his eyes suggested he was forcing himself not to laugh. "Denied," he answered.

Ward glanced away so Coulson couldn't see how frustrated he was, and after a moment he heard Coulson sigh. "But I'll take the straps off."

He made sure not to make any sudden movements as Coulson worked to release his arms, but Ward needed to at least try to reason with him. "I've been out of commission for months, Coulson," he pointed out. "Okay? I…I'm not up to speed, I'm out of shape, I-"

"Out of shape, my ass," Coulson muttered, finally removing the last strap.

Ward rested his elbows on his knees, absentmindedly rubbing his numb arms as he looked up at Coulson. "I haven't seen combat in a long time," he continued, trying to keep his voice calm despite his increasing panic. "And if you're sending me in there without a weapon again, I think it's only fair-"

Coulson was busy wrapping the bonds in a circle, but he briefly glanced up at Ward's words. "How about you let me decide what's fair?" he asked before returning to what he was doing.

Ward nearly groaned in exasperation, but instead he set his jaw and dug his elbows into his knees. He knew Coulson had every right to be short with him, every right to refuse his requests. But at the same time, Ward also knew that they didn't have any kind of leeway to make mistakes.

"I'm not going to be able to help Skye from in here," he said tersely, focusing on the pain in his knees to keep from losing his composure.

"The team's already on edge, Ward," Coulson replied quietly. "I can't have you walking around the Bus making it worse." He finished tying the straps together and headed towards the door. "I'll release you when we're a half hour out for briefing."

"But-"

"That's final, Ward," Coulson cut him off, turning around to grab onto the door handle. His eyes scanned the Cage for a few seconds, but the only things in the room were the interrogation table, Ward's chair, and the mattress on the floor. "If you want something to do, why don't you…take a nap or something?"

Ward sprang out of the chair as soon as he heard the lock slide into place. And even though he knew the furniture was fixed into the Cage's bottom side, he couldn't stop himself from kicking the table in anger. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, pacing the floor and trying to channel all of his pent-up rage and fear into the throbbing sensation in his foot.

What the hell was he going to do? He wasn't prepared to go up against whatever had destroyed that village all those years ago. He was weak, he was tired, he was defenseless. And even if they managed to find Skye, Ward wasn't entirely certain someone on the team wouldn't try to off him the first chance they got.

No. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't rest. He couldn't wait anymore. He had to  _do_  something.

He gave the table one more good kick before resting his fists on the surface, trying to calm down his breathing. He needed to figure out a plan. But he was too distracted, the memory of the last time he'd seen her face seared into the forefront of his mind. That cold emptiness in her eyes, so different from the warmth she used to exude. It was his fault that that warmth had disappeared, his fault that she held no sympathy for him. And even though he hated himself for the pain he'd caused her, he didn't know what he would do if that warmth disappeared completely, if the emptiness in her eyes was replaced by a different kind of emptiness, and emptiness she couldn't return from.

His knuckles began to crack under the pressure with which he was pushing into the table. He couldn't think about her. He couldn't think about what they could be doing to her. He needed something to do, something to help him forget for the next few hours.

And that's when his eyes fell on the mattress. Or, perhaps more specifically, the lone sheet on the mattress.

Ward quickly walked over to the corner, lifting the edges of the mattress in order to remove the fabric. He then brought the sheet to the table, where he used the hard edges (and a little bit of his teeth) to rip off two large strips. Once the material was ready, he methodically wrapped both of his fists in the thin cloth before choosing a spot on the wall.

He started out slowly, using blocks to get his arms used to the exercise before moving on to jabs and crosses. The metal was rough on his knuckles, but he welcomed the pain. It was something he could focus on, something he could use to drown out her voice in his head. And as his momentum increased, so did his determination. Skye would never see him as anything more than a monster, but he was not going to let her die. Not when he could do something about it.

His hands began to bleed after a while, but he didn't care. He worked until the fabric had soaked through completely, and then he worked some more. The only time he paused was to rip off two more strips and rewrap his hands. But he always returned to the unforgiving wall, fighting against the terror that threatened to consume him.

* * *

When Triplett entered the lab, he pretended not to notice Fitz shove what looked like a huge stack of papers into a drawer. And when Fitz returned to the device on the table in front of him, Triplett also pretended not to notice the slight shake in the engineer's hands.

"Everything coming along okay in here?" Triplett asked, casually folding his arms and leaning against one of the other tables.

"Yes, thank you," Fitz replied in irritation, keeping his attention fixed on the object. "You can go check on someone else now."

Triplett sighed, deciding it would be better to just get on with it. "Look, I know it's probably none of my business-"

"Then let's keep it that way," Fitz muttered.

Triplett tried not to lose his patience, because he knew the guy was only stressed out about the mission. They all were. He still felt that he had to say something, though. Sometimes people, especially people like Fitz, weren't aware of how much they affected those around them.

"But it seems to me," he continued patiently, "that making your best friend cry is kind of a jerk move."

Triplett expected Fitz to give an annoyed response, but instead he just looked up in surprise. The screwdriver in his hand was slowly lowered onto the table, and his face grew pale as he seemed to understand what Triplett had implied. "She…"

"She tried to hide it," Triplett explained, remembering how she'd hastily wiped the tears away before she thought he could see her. "But you know how she is with lying."

Fitz was silent for a few moments, distractedly tapping the tool on the table. Triplett could tell he was upset that he'd hurt Simmons, but that their impending assignment was predominating his thoughts. So he wasn't shocked when Fitz lifted the screwdriver again, returning to his work. "I'll apologize to her later," he murmured.

"I know you will, man," Triplett assured him. "But maybe you should…" he paused, trying to pick the right words. "I don't know, try to be a little nicer to her?"

Triplett knew he was entering into dangerous territory. After all, FitzSimmons had known each other for a lot longer than Triplett had known either of them, and they seemed to have their own way of communicating that had managed to keep their friendship intact. But Triplett also knew that while Fitz knew Simmons better than anyone, he could be a real dumbass sometimes.

Thankfully, Fitz didn't lash out at Triplett's words, so he ventured out with a few more. "When you were having all that memory trouble earlier," he went on quietly. "It took a big toll on her, more than she'll probably admit and more than I think you realize."

Fitz was giving off the impression that he wasn't paying any attention to him, but Triplett saw how his eyes were out of focus as he stared down at the device in front of him. "Yeah," he eventually sighed, placing the screwdriver off to the side and resting his hands on the table. "Yeah, I know."

Triplett felt that he had made his point, so he decided to give Fitz the lab to himself, knowing he probably just needed some time on his own. "Hey," he smiled, lightly knocking on the side of the table before heading back into the cargo hold. "Chin up, dude. Skye'll be back with us in no time."

Fitz didn't try to return the smile, but he managed to give Triplett a weak nod in response as the lab doors whooshed open. While Triplett set up his own workstation, he made sure to keep his back to the lab, not wanting Fitz to feel like he was being watched. And then, once he had his hands protected and the bag was just where he wanted it to be, he went to work.

The material caved easily under his efforts, but he kept pushing himself to move it further, to hit it harder. He remained in the hold for the rest of the flight, only taking a short water break when he felt like he was going to pass out. Because as much as he trusted Coulson, and as much as he had faith that they would get Skye back, there was no way in hell he was leaving the success of the mission in the hands of the traitorous son of a bitch sitting in the Cage upstairs.

Skye deserved better than that.

By the time Coulson's voice came over the comms, Triplett was panting heavily but feeling better than he had a few hours earlier. "Briefing in five," the director announced, and Triplett quickly ran up to his bunk to switch out his sweaty shirt for a clean one before entering the comm room.

Coulson began as soon as everyone was gathered together around the Holocom. FitzSimmons were standing next to each other, as usual, but Triplett thought it was probably more out of habit than because Fitz had actually apologized. Fitz seemed extremely distracted, whereas Simmons had her eyes fixed steadily on Coulson, as if she were simultaneously trying to force herself to pay attention and avoiding having to look at either Fitz or Ward. As for Ward himself, he stood apart from the group, the bracelet on his wrist contrasting starkly with the barely dried blood on his hands. But Triplett didn't give him more than a passing glance. His focus was on Coulson, and he noticed with some alarm that though the director was alert, he looked more tired than he had in a while.

"Our mission remains the same," Coulson explained. "Get in, rescue Agent Skye, and get out. We will engage with the enemy only when necessary." He swiped a couple keys on the table, and a satellite image of the village displayed on the screen behind him. "Now, this time is a little bit trickier," he continued. "Agent Simmons will be letting us know where to look, but we've still got a lot more ground to cover. So we'll be splitting into groups." He used his pointer finger to draw the entrance plan over the image. "We'll all enter the village from the north. Agent Triplett and I will circle around to the east side, Agents May and Fitz will take the west, and Ward will go through the center, coming out through the south."

Out of the corner of his eye, Triplett saw Ward shift from one foot to the other. "Um…sir?" he asked, and Triplett suppressed a smile at how high his voice sounded.

Coulson sighed. "You'll have an ICER on you this time, Ward," he conceded. "But I swear to God, if you use it on any of us-"

"You won't be happy," Ward nodded. "Understood, sir."

"You're damn right I won't be happy," Coulson muttered before turning back to the Holocom. "Agent Fitz will have the Retrievers going again, and the D.W.A.R.F.s should tell us if we have to worry about radiation or anything like that. Again, we don't know exactly what we're dealing with here, but it's safe to say that  _everyone_  needs to be on their guard." He glanced around the room. "We copy?"

Right on cue, May's voice came in through the speakers. "Landing in ten."

Coulson nodded to the group. "Let's suit up."

As everyone filed out, Triplett hung back for an extra minute. He turned to Simmons, who was studiously ensuring the technology was in working order. "We're gonna find her, Simmons," he told her quietly.

She glanced up at him and gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I know you will."

"And…he'll be fine," Triplett added, knowing how stressed she got every time Fitz left on a mission. "He'll have Agent May with him, so he couldn't be in better hands. She'll make sure he makes it back in one piece, I can guarantee it."

Simmons didn't seem any more relieved by his words, but she nodded anyways. He decided to spare her having to respond by leaving the room, but her voice spoke softly from behind him.

"You be careful too, you know."

He turned around and grinned. "Don't you know Careful's my middle name?"

She didn't laugh, but he hadn't really expected her to.

Down in the cargo hold, the rest of them suited up in relative silence, the only sounds coming from magazines being snapped into place and the ripping of the Velcro on their vests. They strapped themselves into the seats for landing, and then before Triplett knew it, they were exiting the plane.

There was something eerie about the quietness that surrounded them when they got outside. It was dusk, so the dim light gave the village entrance an almost sinister appearance as they approached from the north. Triplett had gone on missions to deserted locations before, and at first glance, this place didn't appear to be any different than those other sites. Most of the buildings that could be seen from their access point had been reduced to piles of rubble, weeds and grass having grown over the debris. The foliage itself was the only sign of life, not even a cricket's chirp breaking the silence. And above it all, a faint smell of decay hovering in the air.

But there was something even more disturbing about the place. It was as if the land had witnessed something so terrible there, that it had remained empty to this day out of respect. Triplett didn't know exactly what had happened there, or why. Coulson hadn't explained the reasoning behind coming to that particular deserted village. But Triplett somehow knew they'd arrived at the right coordinates this time. Because he couldn't shake the feeling that something evil had happened in this place, something too horrible to comprehend.

He tightened his grip on his ICER. The girl was a fighter, he'd seen that before. But it was high time she was back with the team, and a thousand miles away from wherever the hell they were.

They all wordlessly edged closer to the entrance, a dilapidated archway greeting them along the way. In the dirt next to one of the posts, there was a charred sign that had fallen off. May carefully picked it up and brushed off the dust, and though Triplett couldn't understand the characters carved into the wood, he knew by May's expression that they were significant.

"What does it say?" he asked quietly, almost afraid that his voice would break the reverent silence they'd been adhering to for the past few minutes.

May simply stared at the sign, her mouth in a thin line. "It reads Tiankong," she finally murmured, not bothering to elaborate. Triplett wanted to point out that he didn't, in fact, speak Mandarin, but something told him not to push the subject.

She eventually tossed the wood aside. "Let's finish this," she said in a low voice, and Triplett definitely couldn't argue with that.

They split up once they passed under the archway, Triplett making sure to never have his back to Ward until he was out of sight. He and Coulson made their way around to the east side, taking cover along the dead tree line that surrounded the village. They didn't meet any resistance, but Triplett's uneasiness only continued to grow the further they moved towards the center.

"You sure it's a good idea to let Ward go off on his own, sir?" Triplett asked.

"He's not gonna risk anything," Coulson shook his head. "Not with all of us out here in the middle of nowhere and not when Skye's the mission. I don't think he was lying earlier about not wanting her to get hurt. He's got an almost unhealthy obsession with her."

"I gotta say that doesn't really make me feel any better."

"You're not alone there," Coulson replied grimly. "But he'll get the job done." He checked the small map on his phone to make sure they were going in the right direction. "What've we got, Simmons?" Coulson whispered.

"I'm only getting you five at the moment," Simmons replied, her voice just a little too loud in Triplett's ear. "But the detector is still warming up. The entire village should be visible once you all reach your positions."

"There's no evidence of any harmful radiation either, sir," Fitz chimed in. "Should be the least of our worries."

"Copy that," Coulson answered. He then motioned for Triplett to pause just outside a severely burnt wall, which was directly on the edge of the village's east access point, while they waited for further instructions from Simmons.

Coulson checked the magazine in his ICER. "When we go in," he said quietly, "can I trust you to follow my orders exactly?"

Triplett was somewhat caught off-guard by Coulson's question, but he answered readily. "Of course, sir."

Coulson met his eyes as he snapped the clip back in. "Even if I tell you to fall back?"

"Uh…" Triplett began. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir."

Coulson sighed, turning to look over the wall at the empty village in front of them. "You're a good soldier, Agent Triplett," he said carefully, as if he were expressing something that had been on his mind for a while. "But being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is not always about putting yourself on the front lines."

Triplett was confused. "Sir, I was trained for specialist work a long time ago," he pointed out. "You know what they teach at the Academy. When you're on your own in the field, you gotta get used to taking the first hits. It's in the job description."

Coulson looked back at him. "Did S.H.I.E.L.D. teach you that?" he asked. "Or did Garrett?"

Very few things had the ability to shock Triplett, but Coulson's words left him speechless. "You're on my team now, Agent Triplett," Coulson continued. "I'd like to keep it that way."

Before Triplett could respond, Simmons came in on the comms again. "Sir, I'm detecting the heat signatures of three guards in one of the central buildings, and there are five additional people exiting through the south doors."

"Ward?" Coulson asked. "Do you copy that?"

"Affirmative," Ward replied.

"Okay, Agent Triplett and I will take the three inside," Coulson announced. "Agents Fitz and May, you circle around the west side to cover Ward as he takes the other five, but try to stay hidden. And most importantly, everyone needs to be on the lookout for Agent Skye. Getting her out safely is our top priority."

"Got it, Coulson," said May.

Coulson nodded over at Triplett. "You ready?"

Triplett was still somewhat shaken by what Coulson had said just moments before, but his resolve was unwavering. "Let's go get our girl."

* * *

She kept her pace steady as she hurried towards the makeshift office, but the rhythm of her heels on the concrete matched her heartbeat. "Sir, there's been a security breach," she announced as soon as she knew he could hear her.

He quickly spun around to face her. "What?" he asked in annoyance. "Who-"

"It's Coulson's team," she specified, keeping her voice calm even though she knew they were running out of time.

But the Doctor didn't appear overly concerned. "Let them come," he replied indifferently.

"These people are not to be underestimated, sir," Raina insisted. "Three of our own are still unconscious after your daughter's last…demonstration, and I'm afraid our remaining numbers aren't sufficient enough for a proper defense. We need to go now."

"And just leave her here?" he asked furiously, stepping closer to Raina so he was mere inches away.

She didn't flinch. "You said yourself she's denying her true nature, Doctor," she reasoned. "But she can't lie to herself forever. Sooner or later she'll realize she's not one of them, that she'll never be one of them. And then?" she smiled. " _She'll_  come looking for you."

The Doctor seemed to consider her words, not looking particularly convinced. "How do you know for sure?"

Raina continued smiling, but her tone was bitter. "Because your daughter is stubbornly curious and  _very_  good at finding people," she answered. "We have to go  _now_ , Doctor."

He tapped his foot on the ground impatiently before finally heaving an irritated sigh. "Fine," he caved. "We'll evacuate." And as they quickly made their way towards the south doors, he made sure to lean over and whisper in her ear. "But you'd better hope you're right," he murmured, sending a shiver down Raina's spine. "Because for the sake of that pretty face I'd hate for you to be wrong."

* * *

Skye couldn't think. The realization that she'd been buried underground had made her panic, and she had to focus on taking slow breaths in order to keep from hyperventilating. She didn't scream, because she knew no one would be able to hear her. She didn't cry, because she needed to think clearly in order to figure out what to do. But that was a pretty difficult task considering she was fairly certain she was going to die in that box.

She wracked her brain for something, anything that May or Trip or even FitzSimmons might have mentioned about what to do in this situation. But her thoughts were all over the place, and she couldn't get herself together. She was losing oxygen, she knew she was. She was already starting to feel lightheaded, and she realized that if she didn't do something fast she was going to faint. And then die.

She lifted her hands above her head, running her fingers along the wood to look for a crack she could work with. She was almost positive she wouldn't find anything, and was just about to give up on that endeavor, when all of a sudden she felt a fracture large enough for her to fit the tip of her finger in.

Skye focused on keeping a stable breathing pace as she dug her nail into the hole in an attempt to make it bigger. When she thought it was a reasonable size, she slid her body as far down the box as she could go, trying to position her elbow directly underneath the break. But right before she went to town on that fracture, she realized that if ( _when_ ) the lid broke, her head would automatically get covered with soil. All of her efforts to get out would have been for nothing, and in addition to dying from a lack of air, she would also go with a bunch of dirt in her mouth.

Skye decided she did not want to bow out that way, so without moving too quickly, she reached down to lift her shirt over her head. It took a few tries, because she had to awkwardly maneuver within the confines of the box, but eventually her shirt was bunched up around her face to keep the dirt from getting in her eyes or mouth. She tried not to be bothered too much by the stink (she was  _dying_ , for God's sake), but dying in a box might have been slightly less depressing if she didn't smell absolutely terrible.

Skye pushed aside those thoughts. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about her personal hygiene, when getting out of the box was significantly more important. Once again she slid down to get her elbow underneath the crack, and using all of her strength, sent one sharp blow to the lid.

Nothing. The crack didn't even split a mere millimeter wider. Now all she had was a searing pain in her elbow that nearly matched the one in her broken wrist.

But she wasn't going to give up so easily. She brought her elbow back and hit the spot a few more times, and just as she thought it was no use, the crack began to grow. She pounded on the fracture more frequently, ignoring the blood dripping down her arm. The wood began to split in more places, the lid starting to come apart.

But Skye was getting more light-headed now, black spots starting to dance in front of her eyes. No. She couldn't pass out now. No. Not when she was so close to getting out. No.

She kicked her legs out, trying to put all of her strength into breaking the wood, but her limbs had grown heavy, unable to follow her brain's orders. She pulled at an opening in her shirt to see her progress, and her heart sunk.

The last thing she saw before darkness consumed her was her coffin's lid, riddled with fractures, a testament to a valiant effort that just hadn't been enough.

* * *

Ward held his ICER up at the ready as he skirted around one of the only remaining buildings in the village. He was getting closer to the south side, so he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of the five people that had supposedly left the premises.

He was still mildly surprised that his and Coulson's hunch had actually turned out to be correct. But though he apparently hadn't led them to the wrong spot this time, Ward was hardly relieved. They still had to find Skye, and if the majority of the guards had fled, they must have been alerted to the team's presence.

"Sir?" he asked quietly. "What's your status?"

"The three inside are all unconscious," Coulson replied. "Raina and whoever she's working with must have decided to leave them. Are you seeing anything out there?"

"Negative," Ward answered as he rounded the last corner. "I'm at the south side now."

"Well, keep looking. Skye's not in here."

"Copy that."

Ward now appeared to be in some kind of desolate courtyard, the ground long devoid of any plant life. The darkness made it difficult to make out any distinct features, but as Ward's eyes traveled along the back tree line, he saw a sudden flash of movement.

"Sir, I see two guards running the back end," he reported, taking off at a sprint. "I'm in pursuit."

"May?" Coulson asked.

"We're almost there," she replied. "Fitz is deploying the Retrievers."

Ward tried to ignore them, knowing that he was the closest one to finding out where Skye was. He couldn't afford to be distracted right now, because failure was not an option. But he was halfway across the courtyard when something in one corner caught his eye. He didn't want to slow down, but the loose rectangle of dirt in the otherwise deserted landscape lifted up a thousand red flags in his head.

He couldn't even entertain the possibility, but all of a sudden he had to know. "Someone's been digging back here recently," he said, turning his attention back and forth from the guards that were getting away and the patch of dirt near his feet. "Simmons, are you getting anything around me?"

He was met with silence, and nearly groaned with frustration and panic. "Damn it, Simmons, forget about everything but Skye for a second. This thing is just big enough for a coffin.  _Are you getting anything back here_?"

"Yes," came Simmons's quiet reply. "It's a faint signal, but there's someone alive down there."

And then nothing else mattered. The guards and Raina could have disappeared for all he cared, but he was immediately on his knees, plunging his arms into the loose soil until he found what he was looking for. Thankfully the box was only a few feet down, so he frantically pushed away the dirt until his fingers had access to the wood.

As he brushed away the soft earth, his heart hammered loudly in his ears. There were fractures in the lid, small lines indicating the coffin had been cheaply put together. But the part that surprised him the most was that the cracks appeared to have been created from the  _inside_ , rather than from the pressure of the dirt on top of it. And as he curled his fingers to pry the lid off, he realized with a jolt that it wasn't his heartbeat he was hearing.

There was someone pounding beneath the surface, trying to get out.

He was starting to panic even more now. But even when he took a few deep breaths to steady himself, the lid refused to budge under his grip. And his panic only exacerbated when the urgency of the pounding began to fade, eventually stopping altogether.

"Skye?" he shouted, willing her to answer him. "Skye, can you hear me?"

The silence that followed chilled him to the core, but her lack of response ended up being the motivation he needed to finally rip the lid off. Splinters pierced his skin as he pried open one corner, but the rest of the lid came off easily after that, and he focused half of his attention on removing the entire thing and the other half on making sure there wasn't any dirt falling on Skye's face.

As soon as the lid was clear, he removed the balled-up shirt from around her head and pressed two fingers to her throat. She was so still, so quiet, that he almost feared the worst. But after a few seconds, he felt it. Her pulse.

She was alive.

Ward was all too aware that he didn't have time to be relieved. Who knew where Raina was, or what kind of torture Skye had endured? He carefully lifted her out of the coffin, trying not to be too alarmed by how fragile she felt in his arms.

"Sir?" he huffed. "I've got her. She's alive, but she needs water and maybe oxygen, I don't know. I'm bringing her back to the Bus."

"We'll meet you there," Coulson replied.

And as Ward steadily made his way back through the village, he pretended not to notice that Skye had involuntarily curled into his side. He told himself she was probably just cold, only a thin tank top covering her torso, and that she most likely wasn't even aware that it was Ward carrying her. Who was he kidding? Of course she didn't know. If she'd known, she would've jumped out of his arms immediately, dehydrated or not, choosing not to give him a backward glance as she stumbled on her own back to the plane.

But despite knowing all these things, Ward couldn't help but feel slightly comforted by her presence. And maybe it was his ears playing tricks on him, but there was a moment in the darkness, walking through that godforsaken village, where she stirred slightly, and he could've sworn he heard her whisper his name.


	6. Chapter 6

For a long time, Jemma was blind to everyone and everything around her except for Skye.

As soon as Ward set her carefully down in the bunk Jemma had prepared hours earlier, she shooed every single person away, regardless of title or importance. Because whether or not they were a backstabbing traitor or the director of an intelligence organization, they were still in the way of Jemma's ability to give Skye the medical attention she needed. And the last thing Jemma could afford was to be distracted.

She worked quickly and efficiently, prepping Skye's arm with unwavering hands before she intravenously administered a steady flow of saline solution into her system. Thankfully Skye only appeared to be dehydrated, and perhaps a bit malnourished. She'd only been gone for a few days, so Jemma had no doubt she would physically recover soon.

But her mental and emotional recoveries were something else entirely.

Jemma didn't know exactly what had happened in that village, or why Skye had been taken there. And really, Jemma didn't need to know. Skye had returned, and she was safe under their protection again, and that was all that mattered. But Jemma couldn't shake the feeling that if they had gone to the wrong place again, or if May had flown the plane just a little bit slower, they wouldn't have found Skye in time.

Jemma still felt bile in her throat when she thought about where they'd found her. What kind of horrendous person would try to bury someone alive?

She forced back her tears, though, knowing that crying about what could have happened would be a waste of time. Instead, she poured all of her focus into making sure Skye was as comfortable as possible. She started with the obvious wounds, cautiously setting the poor girl's left wrist before wrapping it tightly in a bandage. She then worked at cleaning the blood off of Skye's elbow, spending nearly an hour gently extracting each splinter, trying not to think about how they'd gotten there.

After she'd removed most of the dirt and grime, Jemma dug through Skye's wardrobe until she found one of her old baggy shirts and a pair of sweatpants. It took her about thirty minutes to change Skye out of her filthy clothes, because she didn't want to accidentally dislocate anything. Goodness knew Skye had endured enough pain to last her for quite some time. Jemma didn't need to cause her any more.

Once she'd thrown the old clothes into the bin, Jemma took a warm cloth and worked at cleaning the blood and dirt off of Skye's face. There wasn't much she could do about the hair, but Jemma did her best to carefully brush through the tangles, and even managed to get it into some semblance of a French plait, even though she'd never been particularly good at that kind of thing.

By the time Jemma had finished, Skye was still unconscious but relatively clean. In fact, if it hadn't been for the IV attached to her arm, she might have even looked like she was just serenely sleeping. But Jemma was hardly relieved, knowing from experience that it was foolish to prematurely assess the situation before Skye awoke. After all, Jemma's sister had sustained significant physical and emotional damage from the torture she'd endured from HYDRA, and her best friend had experienced a traumatic brain injury that had temporarily suppressed his memories. Ellie had recovered, of course, and seemed to be readjusting fairly well. And Fitz had gotten better too.

But neither of them had been the same afterwards.

And maybe, if she was honest with herself, she also knew that Fitz wasn't as better as he pretended to be.

Jemma wasn't sure how long she sat there next to Skye's bed, watching her breathe and making sure her vitals were returning to normal. She was vaguely aware of the plane taking off at one point, but it didn't strike her to be curious about what had happened outside until Fitz knocked lightly on the bunk door.

"Hey," he whispered, stepping cautiously into the room, as if he was afraid that Jemma would try to push him out. "How is she?"

"She just needs some time to rest," Jemma replied, managing to give him a tiny smile. "She'll be fine, though, Fitz."

She saw his shoulders slump forward with relief, and he briefly ran a hand over his face. "Good, that's good," he murmured before stepping further into the bunk. "Er, listen," he began, resting a couple fingers on her shoulder. "I can hang out in here for a while if you want to take a break."

Jemma started to shake her head. "You need to-"

"I got in a couple of hours," he assured her, although by the way he avoided her eyes she could tell they probably hadn't been very peaceful.

"Yes, but-"

"Come on, Jemma," he sighed, gently grabbing onto her arm to help her up. "There's nothing more you can do for her now until we get back to base."

Jemma folded her arms, too tired to be upset that he'd managed to get her out of the chair. "But that's hardly the-"

"And correct me if I'm wrong," he interrupted her with mock seriousness. "But shouldn't Skye's doctor  _not_  be walking around like a zombie when we land?"

Jemma opened her mouth to half-heartedly argue with him, but he'd already turned around, taking his spot in the chair next to Skye's bed. And she didn't know why, but for some reason she didn't know what to say to him. He was right in front of her, a mere foot away, but in all practicality the distance between them could have been a thousand miles.

She couldn't leave right away, though. She was still Dr. Simmons. "Well," she began, clearing her throat. "Could you at least-"

" _Yes_ , Jemma," he sighed without looking at her. "I'll come get you if anything happens."

She stood there for a few more seconds, watching the two of them in silence, before hesitantly moving to close the door. But as she reached forward, she felt his hand lightly brush against her elbow.

"Hey, Jemma?" he murmured, twisting around in his chair to face her.

She breathed in sharply. "What is it, Fitz?" she whispered.

It was dim in Skye's bunk, but she saw his eyes soften. "Look, I'm sorry about…about before," he said tentatively.

Jemma was thrown for a moment, unsure what he was talking about. But then she remembered his outburst in the lab. "Don't worry about it, Fitz," she shook her head. "You were just under a lot of stress-"

"That doesn't make it all right, Jemma," Fitz insisted. "Okay? You were stressed out too, and you were only trying to help. I was an arse."

" _No_ ," she argued reflexively. But after seeing his skeptical expression, she couldn't keep from smiling. "Okay, maybe just a bit."

He laughed quietly. "There, you see? I knew it," he nodded, his smile fading. "So could you just take my heartfelt apology already?"

"Fine, Fitz," Jemma conceded. "If only so you'll stop going on about it."

He shrugged. "Fair enough," he replied, turning back around in his chair so he could watch Skye.

Jemma stood at the bunk entrance for a little while longer, unsure why she wanted to cry all of a sudden. Because despite how lighthearted the previous moment had been, Jemma couldn't have said she felt any better. Fitz appeared to be his normal self. He certainly talked like his normal self. But there was something off about him that Jemma couldn't quite place. Something in his eyes, or the way he fidgeted with his hands, or the way he avoided talking about himself, was different. His memories were back, and she was unbelievably thankful for that. But something else had changed, and it positively  _killed_  Jemma not to know what it was, to know that for some reason Fitz no longer felt that he could confide in her.

There was something bothering Fitz, something that had been bothering him for a while. Jemma knew that.

So why wasn't he talking to her about it?

* * *

May heaved a deep sigh, finally deciding to put the Bus in autopilot after a few hours of being in the air. She wasn't tired, not really. Her senses were still on high alert after that horrendous mission, what with trying to help Fitz track down Skye's captors and being ordered to get back to the plane and having to drag three unconscious guards into the Cage. May had been furious that the person responsible for what had happened to Skye had gotten away. But she'd agreed with Coulson that they'd needed to get Skye back to Homerun as quickly as possible.

No, May was very much awake. The tiredness that she felt now was a deeper exhaustion, one that seeped into her bones, making her feel absolutely ancient. She'd known going in that the prospect of rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to take a toll on all of them. But she hadn't quite anticipated how drastic that toll was going to be.

She leaned back in the pilot's seat, thinking that maybe she could get in a little meditation time before they reached the base. But she hadn't even begun to relax her limbs before she heard a short rap on the cockpit entrance.

"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to keep it down in here," Triplett said, shaking his head as he leaned over the co-pilot's chair. "The passengers are starting to complain about the noise."

May almost smiled. "What do you need, Trip?"

"Ah, nothing," he grinned, taking a seat next to her. "Just couldn't sleep, that's all." He pointed to the controls. "You want me to take over? I don't think I've seen you get any shut-eye since we left yesterday."

May was about to refuse, or to at least make a sarcastic remark about her sleeping habits. But something told her not to dismiss Triplett's offer so quickly. She studied him for a second. "You sure?" she asked.

He looked somewhat surprised by her answer, but he nodded nonetheless. "Absolutely."

"Okay," she said, starting to get out of her seat. "You got it?" she double-checked.

Triplett laughed. "Yeah, I got it," he replied, trading places with her. "Don't you worry, Agent May. She's in good hands."

May had no doubt that Triplett was capable enough of flying them back, but she still stayed in the cockpit for a couple more minutes before leaving him at the helm. As she slowly headed towards the common area, she wasn't really sure what she wanted to do. She didn't really feel like sleeping, so she passed her rarely used bunk without a glance. The common area itself was empty, Coulson most likely up in his office while the rest of the team slept.

May briefly peeked into Skye's bunk, relieved to see that Simmons had taken care of her wounds and managed to tuck her in comfortably. She knew that the girl had probably been through hell, especially if Ward had been right about Raina's employer. But at least she was safe, and away from that damn village.

She leaned against the bunk door, watching Skye's face for a while before turning her attention to Fitz. The engineer, who was sitting vigilantly at Skye's side, hadn't noticed May approaching, probably because of her natural stealth. And it was while she watched him fiddle with his thumbs that she realized where she had to be.

She checked the bunk first, but she wasn't surprised to find that it was empty. May had a habit of noticing subtleties, the slight changes in behavior of her team. So she knew that after a difficult mission, especially a mission in which one of their own had been in danger, there would be heavy consequences. And she also knew that sometimes, there was only so much pressure a person could take before they broke.

The sound of quiet sobs reached her ears as soon as she entered the lab. The place looked mostly empty, but May instinctively knew where to look. She slowly made her way towards the back, to the sink that was situated just outside the supply room, and tried to make enough noise so that she wouldn't startle the girl with scissors in her hands.

Simmons glanced up in horror, the shears clattering into the sink as she quickly attempted to wipe her tears away. "A-Agent May," she stammered blearily. "I-I'm sorry, I was just…well, the ends were just…just getting a bit long and I-I couldn't sleep, so I-"

"Have a seat," May interrupted her gently.

Simmons immediately stopped talking, looking over at her with wide eyes. "Pardon?"

May picked up one of the lab stools and placed it in front of the sink. "You don't have to explain," she said, placing a hand on the girl's back. "Just sit down."

Simmons's eyes darted back and forth between May and the stool, but eventually she nodded and hesitantly sat down. She was biting down on her lip, most likely in a feeble attempt to keep from crying, so May wasted no time before reaching into the sink and pulling out the scissors.

"You just want a trim?" she asked, resting her hands on Simmons's shoulders.

"Oh!" Simmons gasped, probably only just realizing May's intentions. "Um…yes," she nodded weakly. "Well, maybe a bit more?" She sighed, shaking her head as tears sprang to her eyes again. "I don't know."

May gently swept Simmons's hair back behind her ears, smoothing it out with her fingers. "How about I do a little at a time, and you can decide when you want me to stop?"

Simmons took a shaky breath. "Yeah," she breathed. "Yeah, that sounds all right."

"Okay," May nodded, giving Simmons's shoulders a small squeeze before she began.

They didn't say anything for the next hour or so, the only sounds coming from the quiet snip of the scissors. May worked slowly, partially because she didn't want to cut off too much at once and partially because Simmons had started crying again. The girl didn't make a sound, the tears streaming silently down her face, and May could tell she was trying not to make any sudden movements.

Every so often, though, when it seemed like Simmons was going to hyperventilate, May set the scissors down on the counter and spent a few minutes stroking her back until she calmed down. She didn't ask for an explanation, because she didn't need one.

May knew all too well how a traumatic experience could affect someone, and the scientist sitting in front of her had definitely had her fair share of trauma. Less than a year ago, she'd come onto Coulson's team with an almost childlike optimism, her excitement at seeing the world and making scientific discoveries overcoming her fear of potential danger. And in that time, she'd contracted an alien virus, discovered that the organization she'd joined had been corrupt, had her identity erased, been left to die in the middle of the ocean by someone she'd grown to trust, watched her best friend try to give up his life for her, endured the pain of having him forget who she was, worked tirelessly to help him recover from his brain injury, and still, after all that, managed to put on a brave face for the rest of them.

It was an exhausting way to live. And while it pained May to see Simmons break down, she was glad that she was finally able to let it all out. Emotions left unchecked had the ability to completely destroy a person.

After a while Simmons's sobs faded, and May began to even out the ends of her hair, keeping the length just long enough so she could still pull it back in the lab. And as she watched the last few strands of hair float to the ground, she was reminded of another time, after Bahrain, when she too had inexplicably felt the need to make a drastic physical change. She'd been alone in a dirty motel bathroom when she'd chopped off her own hair, and though she'd done it in a fit of pain and rage, it had helped. It had helped her let go of the person she'd been before, to cut away the dead parts of her so that she could heal and grow again. She hadn't regretted it, and she still didn't. But she was glad that Simmons wasn't alone like she'd been.

When she was finished, May spent a few more minutes running her fingers through Simmons's hair, waiting until the tears had stopped and her breathing had returned to normal. They remained there for some time, until eventually Simmons broke the silence.

"After New York," she began hoarsely, before clearing her throat. "How did…I mean, how long-"

"Four months," May answered quietly, recalling the agonizing weeks after the Battle when she'd thought Coulson had been dead.

"Oh," Simmons replied, her cheeks turning pink. "Sorry, I…I didn't mean to-"

But May smiled. "Did he ever tell you guys the story about how he told me he was alive?" she asked, gently brushing some of the stray bits of hair off of Simmons's shoulder.

Simmons seemed startled by her change in tone. "No," she shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Of course he didn't," May scoffed. "Probably because he had a black eye for about a week afterwards."

"Oh, no," Simmons cringed, covering her mouth. "What did he do?"

May shrugged. "Nothing too dramatic," she replied, leaning against the sink. "Just broke into my apartment so he could sit on my couch in the darkness. And then as soon as I opened the door, he turned on the lamp and said, 'Did you miss me?'"

"Oh, my Lord," Simmons sighed, but she was laughing. "That's awful."

"Let's just say he got his answer," May smirked, remembering how his eyes had widened just before she'd swung at him.

There were a few moments of comfortable silence, and May noticed Simmons's smile disappear. "Was he different?" she asked. "You know…afterwards?"

May tried to choose her words carefully. "It's difficult to go through something like that and not come out of it changed," she admitted. "But…he's still Coulson."

"Oh," Simmons nodded uncertainly, looking down at her lap.

But May heard the unspoken question. "Sometimes all you can do is just be there for him," she said softly.

Simmons glanced up at her again, and though she wasn't crying anymore, May could see the endless pain in her eyes. "But what if that's not enough?"

And despite wanting nothing more than to reassure the young woman in front of her, May actually didn't have an answer. Because she was still wrestling with that question herself.

* * *

Ward had exercised self-restraint before, but sitting in the Cage with three unconscious men that had been responsible for harming Skye without killing them with his bare hands was one of his greater feats of willpower. Of course, it didn't hurt that whenever one of them stirred awake, all Ward had to do was press the panic button for Coulson to show up with an ICER, knocking the guard back out until they got back to the base.

Ward had initially been upset that Coulson had made him stay in the Cage, but he'd understood. He understood that despite his efforts, despite the fact that he'd helped rescue Skye, he wasn't forgiven for the crimes he'd committed. But knowing this didn't stop Ward from asking about Skye every time Coulson came in.

"You can't see her, Ward," Coulson had sighed after the third instance.

"I know, sir," he'd insisted. "But is she okay?"

Coulson hadn't looked like he'd wanted to answer, but he'd eventually nodded. "She's gonna be fine."

And even though Ward desperately wanted to know more, he had to let Coulson's words be his only source of reassurance. Because he knew what would happen when they landed. He would be dropped back into that cell they'd taken him out of, back to the long and dark days, back to having no one to talk to, back to never seeing her again. It was a burden he had to bear.

But as long as she was alive, he knew it had been worth it.

By the time Trip announced their descent over the comms, Ward had resigned himself to his fate. So when the bag was finally removed from his head, after Coulson himself had personally escorted him inside the base, he was surprised to find himself standing in a white room.

The space was sparsely furnished, a small bed situated along one wall and a simple desk positioned on another. Ward turned around in confusion. "Sir, I don't under-"

"Let me be clear," Coulson interrupted, folding his hands neatly in front of him. "This is not a get-out-of-jail-free card. You're still going to get court-martialed, but since I don't know how deep the HYDRA rabbit hole goes, we'll be keeping you here until we can ensure you get a fair trial. You following me so far?"

Ward nodded, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Coulson responded, before pointing to the circle on Ward's wrist. "The bracelet is your baby-sitter, only it's not one of those nice baby-sitters that lets you stay up late and watch Nick-at-Nite. The tasing experience I mentioned earlier? Still applies, as well as the no-technology rule and making sudden movements within five feet of anyone on base. In addition to that, you'll be expected to be in here every night between twenty-one hundred hours and oh-six hundred hours. Not a second after, and not a second before. Still with me?"

Ward was practically speechless. He was actually being given a  _curfew_? But despite his shock, he managed to give Coulson another nod.

"The comm/sat room is off-limits, and so are all the other sleeping quarters. If you enter a room and someone in there tells you to leave, you'll be expected to leave. I'll get you a basic map so you know where you can and can't go, but I can tell you right now that if you even try to escape, I'll find out about it. And then it's back to your old cell. No ifs, ands, or buts. Same goes for if you miss curfew. Understood?"

Ward finally found his words. "Why are you doing this, Coulson?"

Coulson hesitated at the doorway. "You've made a lot of mistakes, Ward," he said grimly. "But you did the right thing today. You helped us save Skye. And whether your motives were pure or not, I want you to remember what that felt like. Because somewhere down the line, you might have to make another choice, and you're gonna have to figure out for yourself which one is right."

"How do you know I'll make the right choice?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, I don't," Coulson replied, shaking his head. "But that's the point, Ward. 'The thing about remembering is-"

"'That you don't forget,'" Ward finished, recognizing the quote from that first book Coulson had dropped into his cell. " _The Things They Carried_."

Coulson didn't show any outward sign of surprise, but Ward saw the hint of a smile on his face. It was a sad smile, though, as if he were remembering things long passed or considering what might have been. He let the moment hang in the air for a few seconds before nodding. "Don't forget today," he said, before the door shut softly behind him.

* * *

Fitz crept silently down the hallway, thankful that he knew his way around the base enough to find the room he was looking for. Practically everyone else was sleeping, so he didn't think he had to worry too much about running into anyone. But he still tried to be as quiet as possible.

When he got to Skye's door, he double-checked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was in the corridor. Confident that it was empty, he twisted the handle and opened the door, breathing out a sigh of relief as he saw the mostly vacant room.

When they'd landed a few hours earlier, Skye had still been unconscious, so he'd quickly made himself scarce while Jemma and Trip had transferred her over to the base. He'd made some lame excuse to Coulson, telling him that he'd wanted to get some rest or something. He'd then spent the next hours in agonizing frustration, going back and forth in an argument with himself until he'd finally reached a decision. And now here he was, staring at Skye's peacefully sleeping form, still unable to bring himself to do what he'd come to do.

But he needed to do this. It was the only thing that would be fair to everyone, whether or not they understood right away. So without thinking too much, he stepped forward and carefully lifted up the edge of Skye's pillow, sliding the small piece of paper under her head. He held his breath as he did so, knowing that if she woke up and caught him, he wouldn't be able to handle her reaction.

He stood up and backed away slowly, trying to quickly memorize her face. But something changed in the air, and all of a sudden he knew. He knew she was behind him.

And all of Skye's possible reactions paled in comparison to the reaction he knew he would receive from her.

"Fitz, what are you doing?"

Fitz turned around nervously, holding up his hands to protect himself. "I-" he began, but his thoughts vanished as he took in her appearance. "What happened to your hair?"

Jemma didn't answer his question, her eyes traveling from the rucksack hanging off of Fitz's shoulder to the white slip of paper peeking out from under Skye's pillow. And Fitz's heart plummeted as he saw the other note, the one he'd rewritten over a dozen times, held tightly in her hand.

She wasn't crying, but the hurt expression on her face as she stared at him in disbelief nearly broke him anyways. "If you were going to leave, Fitz," she whispered. "The least you could have done is tell me to my face."


	7. Chapter 7

Fitz opened and closed his mouth, positively in a state of panic. "Jemma…" he murmured.

"What, Fitz?" she cried, her bottom lip quivering in anger or sorrow, he couldn't really tell. "What could have possibly been a good enough reason for you to just take off without telling anyone?"

He took a breath, but she was waving the piece of paper in front of her face. " _This_  does not constitute as telling anyone, Fitz."

Fitz glanced away from her, knowing that his resolve would crumble if he had to see the pain in her eyes for much longer. "Jemma, I'm sorry-"

She laughed bitterly. "Of course you are-"

"It's not something that I-"

"Because I couldn't possibly be important enough for you to-"

"You wouldn't understand-"

Jemma's mouth hung open in shock, and Fitz cursed himself as he saw her eyes fill with tears. "You…I…" she stammered. "I  _wouldn't understand_?" she finally managed to get out. "Well…well, maybe if you'd actually  _talk_  to me for one bloody second, Fitz, instead of avoiding me all the time-"

Fitz shook his head. "No, Jemma, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like, Fitz?" she asked, her shoulders sinking from exhaustion. "Just tell me. Please."

He closed his eyes in frustration, putting his hands on his waist to keep them from trembling. "I can't…" he began, fighting against his own tears. "I don't…I don't belong here, Jemma."

If anything, Jemma looked even more baffled than she had before. "What…what the hell are you talking about, Fitz?"

Fitz sighed, shaking his head again. "I told you, you wouldn't understand-"

"I _could_ if you'd actually try and explain instead of-"

"No, you  _can't_  understand, Jemma!" Fitz exclaimed, furious with his own voice for cracking. "Okay? You wouldn't understand, because you  _can't_. You…you're different, all right? And you still belong here, because you're bloody brilliant and God knows Coulson needs someone actually competent here but I…I just…I can't stay." He tried to blink away the damn tears, but they still rose up to the surface as he finally managed to unload what he'd terrifyingly realized after he'd gotten his memories back. "I don't belong here, not anymore."

"Fitz," Jemma said gently, and the concern on her face made him wish he was literally anywhere else. "You're still not making any sense. Why would you think-"

"It's gone, Jemma," he whispered, his arm falling to his side in defeat.

"What?" she asked in confusion. "What's gone, Fitz?"

"Everything," he said, knowing he still wasn't making any sense. But for some reason he couldn't express himself clearly, not to her. "I…I can't see it anymore, it's just…all over the place now, and I thought it was because of the amnesia but it's not, because I remember now, I remember everything, but I can't  _see_  it anymore, Jemma, I can't  _understand_  the things I used to. It's…it's gone."

"But…" Jemma murmured, her brow furrowed with worry. "What are you saying? You don't-"

Fitz groaned as he brought his hands to his face. "Do you want to know why I haven't been sleeping, Jemma?" he cried, needing her to hear him even if she couldn't possibly understand. "It's because every night, I have to sit in the lab or my bunk or my room here and  _read_. Okay? And I'm not just reading journal articles or whatever. No, I have to read my  _own damn instruction manuals_." Fitz paused, breathing heavily, and he was unable to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek. "I have to read them, Jemma, because I don't know how they work anymore." He shook his head. "I bloody invented them, and I can't…"

"Fitz," Jemma said, stepping closer to him. "That can't be right. You're being too hard on yourself. You've been doing just fine. You invented those H.Y.D.R.A. bullets to stop Creel, remember?"

Fitz folded his arms. "Those took me weeks, Jemma," he pointed out. "And I had to do the calculations by hand, hundreds of times to make sure I got the stopping power right. It would've never taken me that long to do before."

He could see that Jemma was beginning to understand what he was saying, but she was still in a state of denial. "But…at the island...with Dr. Hall. You got the hostages out by disabling the secondary sensors-"

Fitz shook his head again. "I couldn't figure it out, Jemma. I stared at those wires for thirty seconds, but I couldn't…I couldn't figure it out. I used a bloody pick-lock device, Jemma. Anybody could've done it."

"Well…" she protested, her eyes filling with tears again. "Well, when we redirected the neodymium fence, we-"

"That was all you and Skye, Jemma," he argued, knowing she was finally getting it. "Besides, that was all stuff we'd seen before, with the portals and the particle accelerator and the gravitonium. I figured out about the magnets, but that was elementary science class, Jemma. You could've done it on your own."

"No," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her torso. "This is nonsense, Fitz. You need to stop-"

"Jemma," he interrupted her gently, trying to reason with her so that she'd calm down. "Remember how you took that MRI back at the Playground?" he asked. "And how there was only one area that showed up in the scan? Do you remember which part that was?"

She was shaking now, and it took all of Fitz's self-control not to step over to her and pull her into his arms. "I know you remember, Jemma."

"Your intraparietal sulcus," she whispered.

"Exactly," he nodded. "And I'm no expert, but I looked it up, Jemma, and do you know what it's thought to play a role in?" He didn't wait for her to answer, because the words still flashed across his mind. "Visual control of the manipulation of hand movements, and the processing of  _numerical_   _information_. Okay? I used to see it all in my head, Jemma, and now I…I can't. It's gone."

"But…but it wasn't  _damaged_ ," she objected, still inexplicably trying to argue with him. "All I said was it…it just looked somewhat  _abnormal_ -"

"Well all  _I_  know is something went wrong, okay?"

And then, without a warning, she snapped. "And why do you think that is, Fitz?" she shouted angrily. "Okay? None of this would have even happened if you'd just  _waited_  one  _bloody_ minute before you…" She choked on her words, her tears spilling over. "You pressed that damn button."

Fitz's eyes widened, terrified by the sudden change of subject. "Jemma…"

"No, Fitz," she argued. "No, I  _know_  you don't remember what happened, but that doesn't change the fact that you were an idiot. Thinking I would  _ever_  want you to do something so  _stupid_  as to…as to try to bloody sacrifice yourself for me, when we could have found something else to-"

Fitz shook his head. "Jemma, I may not have all the facts, but I can tell you right now there was no way-"

"Don't you  _ever_  say that," she said fiercely. "What's the  _one thing_  Coulson's always told us, Fitz? There's  _always_  another way, and if you'd have just stopped to  _think_  before making such a-"

"Oh, that's rich, Jemma," Fitz replied, starting to get angry himself. "Because I don't recall  _you_  trying to find 'another way,' as you say, before you decided to jump off a damn airplane."

Jemma inhaled sharply at his words, as if they'd knocked the wind out of her. "That…that was different, Fitz."

"Was it, though?" he asked bitterly. "Come on, Jemma, you know I'm right. You saw no other way out so you made the hard call, and you didn't ask me about it or tell me or give me any kind of warning other than to knock me out with a bloody fire extinguisher."

She winced at the memory, so he took a few deep breaths. The last thing he wanted was to make her upset, but she needed to understand. "And you would've done it again," he continued. "I know you would. And so would I." He took another step closer to her. "This is on me, Jemma," he said, gesturing towards his head. "I know it is. And I would do it again in a heartbeat, to make sure you had a chance. But I…I can't…I can't stay here like this."

"So…what?" Jemma asked, wrapping her arms more tightly across her stomach. "You're just going to leave because…because you don't think you can...keep up or something? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? All right? You're…you're saying our entire friendship is based on…on the fact that I'm intelligent."

"Jemma, don't kid yourself," Fitz said softly. "You know that's the only reason we became friends in the first place."

He didn't think she could've looked more shocked if he'd slapped her. She glanced away from him and scoffed. "God, Fitz," she whispered. "I mean, I knew you hated me back then, but to say that you wouldn't have even given me the time of day if I'd have had a lower IQ-"

Fitz was stunned. "What…what the bloody hell are you going on about, Jemma?" he asked in bewilderment. " _Hated_  you? I don't know which Academy you went to, but clearly we weren't-"

"Oh, you can drop it, Fitz," Jemma said wearily. "I  _know_  you hated me, all right? You wouldn't even speak to me for  _months_  until Dr. Hall practically  _forced_  us to work together in chem lab. And even then you-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Fitz interrupted, holding up his hands. He couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. Is this really what she had thought all these years? "Jemma, the only reason I didn't talk to you was because it _took_ me months to find something smart enough to say for you to...to even _hear_ me."

Her arguments died on her lips. "What?" she whispered.

Fitz knew he had to be careful with what he said next. "Jemma, don't act like you would've even known I was there if we hadn't been paired together."

She still looked shocked, but she started to shake her head. "How could you even-"

"Oh, my God, you two are the biggest idiots I've ever met in my life," a voice groaned from behind Fitz. "And also really loud."

Fitz and Jemma were immediately at Skye's bedside.

"How are you feeling? Do you need us to get you anything?"

"No, be careful, Fitz, we don't want to sit her up too quickly or-"

"Guys!" Skye cried, laughing weakly as she held her hands out to them. "I'm okay, so just…give a girl a little room."

Fitz took a step backwards, letting Jemma finish getting Skye into an upright position. As she pulled away, Skye reached out her good hand to touch Jemma's hair. "When did that happen?" she smiled, glancing around the room. "Guess I was gone for a while, huh?"

"Oh," Jemma gasped, running her own fingers through her hair as if she'd forgotten the change. "No, no, this was just now, really."

"Well, it looks great," Skye told her.

"You really think so?" Jemma asked in probably the girliest voice Fitz had ever heard her use, and he was baffled to see a slight blush on her cheeks.

"Yeah, I love it," Skye nodded.

Jemma smiled. "Agent May actually cut it for me."

That certainly got a reaction out of Fitz. " _What?"_  he cried, his voice matching Skye's.

But before Jemma could respond, Skye turned her attention to Fitz. "You," she pointed at him. "What the hell, dude?"

He glanced behind him, making sure there was no one else in the room before placing a finger on his chest. "Me?"

"Yeah," Skye nodded, raising her eyebrows. "You were just gonna leave? Just like that?"

Fitz let out a sigh, realizing that he should've known this was coming. "Skye…"

"No, Fitz," she shook her head. "I heard what you said, okay? And your reasons are stupid as hell. If you don't want to stay, that's fine. But don't you ever say it's because you don't belong here."

He took another deep breath. "Skye, the only reason I was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. was because of what I can do-"

"News flash, Fitz," Skye interrupted him. "The S.H.I.E.L.D. that recruited you is gone. But you're still here, and that's what matters. You think I care that you can't solve rocket science off the top of your head anymore? You think Simmons cares?"

Fitz exchanged a glance with Jemma. "You can't exactly…well, you see, Skye…you don't really  _solve_  rocket…science…"

Skye gave him a death glare, and he fell silent. "So it took you a little longer than you would've liked," she continued. "But guess what, Fitz? You still made those H.Y.D.R.A. bullets, and those were literally the only things that helped us stop Creel."

"Yeah, but-"

"And those hostages? They didn't give a crap if you could break through the doors with your bare hands or not. You still got them out, and they're still alive because of you."

Fitz kept his mouth shut, knowing that Skye wouldn't stop until she was finished. "The  _only_  thing you need to join S.H.I.E.L.D. is a dedication to the greater good," she said firmly. "And that is  _all_ you, Fitz. So you can lie to yourself all you want, but you're gonna have to come up with a better excuse to leave, 'cause it sure as hell isn't going to be because you don't belong here."

Fitz felt his cheeks burning, embarrassed that she felt the need to call him out. But even though Skye's words made sense, he still knew what she'd said hadn't been entirely true. "Skye, I appreciate everything you're trying to say-"

"Fitz, I don't think you get it," Skye said. "We all  _want_  you to be here." She smiled as she reached over to nudge Jemma. "Even Simmons. Because I hate to break it to you guys, but generally speaking, people don't stay friends with their lab partners after school's over. It's just not a thing that happens all the time."

Fitz avoided Jemma's eyes. "Skye…"

"Look, who cares how you met?" she reasoned. "You guys could've chosen any of those other nerds at Hogwarts to be friends with, but you chose each other. That gravity-happy professor of yours might have brought you guys in the same room, but not even that dude can psychically link two people together."

"What?" Jemma asked in confusion. "Psychically…what?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "Just…could you just go with it, Simmons? I'm trying to make a point. Which  _is_ …that we all want Fitz to stay, no matter what he thinks. I mean, I probably wouldn't even be here now if it weren't for you, am I right? I can't even imagine how else you would've found me without your techno magic. I was buried underground, for God's sake."

Fitz tried not to wince, exchanging another nervous glance with Jemma before he shook his head. "No, Skye," he said. "Actually, I didn't do much at all. It was…" He trailed off, unsure whether or not she was ready to hear the news.

Skye's smile faded as she looked between the two of them again. "It was what?" she asked. "How'd you guys find me?"

Thankfully Jemma took the burden of telling her. "Skye…you disappeared so fast," she explained gently. "We had no idea where they took you, and not a clue where to even begin looking. The only reason we got to you in time was…was because of…of Ward."

Skye's face, already pale, seemed to lose its remaining color. "Ward?" she whispered.

Jemma nodded hesitantly. "Somehow he knew where to find you," she answered, her voice starting to tremble. "And if it hadn't been for him, we might have overlooked where you…you'd been buried. But he dug you out and brought you back. Honestly, I don't know what would've-"

"Hey," Skye said, grabbing onto Jemma's hand. "It doesn't matter anymore, all right? I'm okay. And besides, I don't think it was Ward who stitched me up and changed me out of those disgusting clothes." Her smile faded again. "It  _wasn't_  Ward who changed me out of my clothes, was it?"

Despite the tension brought about by Ward's name, Jemma laughed. "No, it wasn't."

Skye exhaled loudly. "Oh, thank God. Thought I was gonna have a heart attack there for a sec."

"Speaking of heart attacks," someone spoke from the doorway, and Fitz spun around to see Coulson hesitantly enter the room.

Jemma cleared her throat. "We'll just…be going," she said loudly, edging towards the door. "Won't we, Fitz?"

"Yep," Fitz muttered, following after her.

"You'll let me know if you need anything, Skye?" Jemma asked at the threshold.

"Yeah, sure," Skye replied. "Hey, wait. Fitz?"

Fitz took a deep breath before turning around. "Yeah?"

"Could you just…take a little time?" she pleaded, letting her expression convey her unspoken words. "Before you make a decision?"

He didn't want to make her any promises, because he hated going back on his word. But he also couldn't refuse her. And if he thought about it, maybe taking a little time wouldn't be so bad. "Yeah," he nodded. "All right."

"Good," she said, giving him a small smile before he closed the door behind him.

He and Jemma walked along the corridor in silence, but for some reason he couldn't look at her. He opened his mouth to speak, and he heard her take a breath at the same time.

"Fitz-"

"Why didn't you just leave me down there, Jemma?"

He saw her freeze next to him, and he closed his eyes in embarrassment. He had no idea where that had come from, why of all things that had been the burning question on his tongue. But once he'd spoken it out loud, he realized that he desperately needed to know the answer.

Jemma moved around his side so that she was standing directly in front of him. "What are you talking about, Fitz?"

"You were supposed to go on your own," he murmured, fighting down the tears again. "All right? I had a broken arm, for God's sake, and you…well, you said there was only enough oxygen for one breath, so why didn't you just go?"

He still couldn't look her in the eye, but she stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm. "For the same reason you tried to put on that parachute and jump after me," she said softly. He glanced up, and his heart broke at seeing the sadness on her face. "And the same reason I wouldn't stay here if you left. Skye was right, Fitz. I don't care if you're having a bit of trouble in the lab. You're my best friend in the world, and I'm not just going to give up on you because of something petty like that."

Fitz sighed. "Jemma, I don't want to be pitied, all right? It's demeaning, and-"

"I'm not pitying you, Fitz," she insisted, willing him to look at her. "I don't know what you've been telling yourself, but it has to stop right now. Because whether you like it or not, you're not alone. And whatever it is that you're struggling with, we'll deal with it the way we always do."

He knew what she was going to say, and he almost wished she wouldn't say it. Because Jemma had always been the optimistic one, always the one to hope for the best. It was the part of her that had always managed to cheer him up, even when he knew she was wrong.

But he didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't sure this was something that could be dealt with, that what was gone in his head was probably never coming back. And so when she said her part, he finished the sentence, if only so he wouldn't have to take that hope away again.

"We'll fix this-"

"Together."

* * *

Skye cleared her throat nervously as soon as the door had shut behind Fitz. "Don't worry, boss," she forced a smile. "I'll have my report in by morning."

But Coulson didn't smile back as he pulled up a chair next to her bed and sat down. The lines on his forehead were even worse than they'd been the last time she'd seen him, and she vaguely wondered if he'd even slept at all lately. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Skye glanced down at her hands, and absentmindedly traced her finger along the bandage on her left arm. "Well…the wrist might be out of commission for a little bit," she joked. "And I  _might_  have to cash in some of those sick days, but-"

"You know what I meant," he said, and even though he couldn't have known the whole story, there was something in his eyes that told her he instinctively knew what had happened in that village. "Are you okay?"

She hesitated, failing to push away the horrible face that was burned into her memory. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I think maybe I will be…one day."

He seemed to consider her words for a few moments before he nodded. "I won't ask you about what happened, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I'm here if you do."

Her smile was genuine this time. "Thanks, A.C.," she said, before letting out a long sigh. "Guess he got away then, huh?"

"We'll find him, Skye," Coulson promised. "He's not gonna get away with this."

Skye took a deep breath. "I'd like to be a part of that," she said, remembering the vow she'd made to herself in that cell. "Of tracking him down, I mean. If that's okay with you."

Coulson studied her face, probably trying to figure out where she was coming from. "If you're sure," he replied.

"I'm sure."

"Okay," he nodded. "But we'll wait until you've recovered."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut off her off before she could begin. "It's not up for discussion, Skye," he said firmly. "You've been through a lot."

Skye couldn't really argue with him there, but she had to admit she was disappointed not to start her vengeful quest to find the Doctor right away. She let it slide, though, figuring she'd put Coulson through enough over the past few days.

He shifted in his seat, and she could tell he was trying to talk himself into saying something. "Listen, Skye-"

"FitzSimmons already told me about, Ward," she interrupted. "It's okay."

"Oh," Coulson replied, looking simultaneously relieved and surprised. "And how are you…dealing with that information?"

"Look, I'm not saying I still don't hate his guts," she chuckled. "But I'm okay."

"You don't owe him anything, you know."

"I know," Skye assured him. "Trust me, I know."

Coulson nodded again before clapping his hands together. " _So_...I guess now would be a good time for me to tell you that I may or may not have given him a...room in Homerun's low-risk wing?"

Skye nearly yanked out the IV in her arm as she bolted upright. "You  _what_?"

Coulson leaned back away from her, holding up his hands to pacify her. "He's still being monitored, Skye," he said quickly. "He's got the bracelet, the curfew, the whole package. But I couldn't keep him in that cell anymore."

"I'm pretty sure you could-"

"That kind of seclusion does things to a person," Coulson continued. "Bad things, Skye. And I'd hand him off to the courts if I knew they weren't all infiltrated by HYDRA. So until we can make sure he gets a fair trial, I gotta keep him here."

"That doesn't mean you should just let him waltz around the base, A.C.," she cried, frustrated that he couldn't see the problem with what he'd done. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Calm down, Skye," Coulson rolled his eyes. "He's not gonna be waltzing around the base, all right? He's got, like, maybe a hallway and a half where he can go. And he's two floors away from everybody else's rooms. Chances are the only time you'll see him is if you go looking for him."

"But do you  _remember_  how he's, like, the biggest super spy of all time?" she reasoned. "You think a bracelet is gonna keep him from going wherever the hell he wants to go?"

"It's supposed to," Coulson replied stubbornly. "But if that doesn't work, there's always the two armed guards set to ice him if he does anything stupid."

Skye fell back into her pillows, knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere with him. "I don't know, boss," she shook her head. "Seems like you're taking a pretty big leap of faith for a guy like him."

Coulson sighed. "If it really bothers you that much, I'll tighten his restrictions," he told her. "But why don't we just see how it goes for a while? Like I said, you probably won't have to see him at all."

She met his eyes, trying her hardest to understand his reasoning. But even though she had her doubts, she trusted Coulson to do the right thing. She gave him a brief nod, and he tapped the end of her bed as he stood up. "I'll send Simmons back over to check on you," he said on his way out.

"A.C.?" she called after him.

He was back at the door in a second, his eyes filled with worry. "What is it?"

She smiled, and her vision blurred as she realized just how happy she was to see him. There was a time she'd thought she'd never see him again. "Thank you…for coming to get me."

His shoulders relaxed, and though she saw a look of pain flash across his face, the edges of his lips turned upwards. "We don't turn our back on our own, Skye."

* * *

May found Coulson in his office the next morning, and if she was honest with herself, she wasn't really surprised that he was still awake. But she  _was_  surprised to see Lance Hunter, leaning back in the chair across from him.

"Oh, hello," Hunter smiled at her as she walked in. "The boss here was just about to tell me if I've got what it takes to join the dream team."

Coulson ran a hand over his face, looking like he'd endured similar comments for longer than he'd have liked. "I already said you could come on the next mission, Hunter," he sighed. "Everything checked out with Deputy Director Hartley. But you'll be expected to follow orders, do you understand that?"

"Yep. Scout's honor," Hunter replied quickly, nearly jumping out of his seat. He took a step away before seeming to remember something. "Oh," he nodded. "Right. Am I dismissed then?"

"Yeah, yeah," Coulson muttered, before resting his head in his hands.

Hunter raised his eyebrows as he passed May. "Good luck," he whispered.

May might have smirked, but her attention was fixed on Coulson. She waited until the door shut behind Hunter before she spoke.

"Phil-"

"That shouldn't have happened, May," he groaned into his hands. "What am I even doing?"

"You can't put this all on yourself, Phil," she said gently. "You've got this whole organization to worry about. Not everything is your fault."

He dropped his hands and looked at her with such intensity that she had to force herself to hold his gaze. "I brought her out here, May. I brought her out because I thought she could be useful. And I've only managed to put her in danger."

"But-"

"And it's not just Skye," he exclaimed, standing up out of his chair. "It's all of them. Hell, FitzSimmons had never even seen a scrap of combat before they joined my team, and they got thrown in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. And…and now Fitz has to deal with whatever crap those doctors put him through, and God knows Simmons has already been through enough hell trying to help him."

May tried to remain calm as she listened to him, but even Simmons had said she wasn't sure what was wrong with Fitz. All she'd told them was that they just had to be patient with him for a while. And May could do that. She had no problem being patient with Fitz. But she knew that Coulson saw the engineer's plight as a sign of his own failure. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered who'd assembled the team in the first place.

"They're all here because I asked them to be," he shook his head, leaning against the desk. "I shouldn't have put that on them."

"Phil, listen to me," May said firmly, walking over to him so he could see her face. "Everyone, every single agent that is here right now,  _chose_  to be here. And they choose to stay every day. You are not forcing  _any of them_  to be here."

His eyes weren't focused on her, though, seeing something else in front of him. "You said it yourself, Melinda," he murmured. "They're just kids."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he finally looked into her eyes as she shook her head.

"Not anymore."


	8. Chapter 8

The hangar was nearly empty by the time Jemma entered through the doors with two steaming mugs of tea. Fitz had wanted a few hours to himself in the Bus lab, so Jemma had given him his space, but only on the condition that he stopped to take a break when she told him to. She wanted him to be able to have time on his own, to try and make sense of everything in his head again, but she also knew that he would go mad if he worked nonstop and avoided everyone else's company. It wasn't healthy, and it wouldn't help him.

If only Jemma knew what  _would_ help him.

She kept thinking back to that note she'd found at the foot of her doorway. How her heart had stopped at seeing her name written carefully in his hand, writing that was as familiar to her as her own. How she'd tore down the corridor, terrified that she wouldn't find him in time. And then her short-lived relief at finding him in Skye's room, only to have the reality of his condition come crashing down on her.

She cursed herself for not noticing before. How could she not have noticed? The hesitancy with which he handled the machinery in the lab, machinery he'd designed himself. The long hours he'd spent in there, taking apart and recalibrating things that didn't need to be taken apart or recalibrated. At the time, she'd thought he'd just been using the lab as a stress reliever, like he'd always done, ever since she'd met him. But she really should have noticed. Even the old Fitz would have stopped every few hours to eat something.

But though Jemma hated herself for not noticing, she hated herself even more that she was the reason he was struggling at all. If she had just managed to stop him from pressing that button, he might not have tried to give up everything for her, those doctors would never have operated on him, and he would never have had any problems to begin with. It killed her to know that. And it also killed her to know that Fitz would never blame her for it. That he saw his condition as something he had to deal with on his own. He'd been prepared to leave, thinking that he was a burden to the team…to S.H.I.E.L.D…to her. As if he didn't know how important he was.

He really had no clue, did he? Leopold Fitz. Child prodigy. Genius engineer, even now. Her best friend in the entire world. Braver than anyone she'd ever known.

And not a bloody clue how damn important he was.

But despite all of that, Jemma didn't know how to help him. She  _wanted_  to help him, more than anything. She knew that if their roles were reversed, she would never have been able to hold herself together half as well as he seemed to be. And yet…she also knew that he would be next to her the whole time, the whole damn time, tirelessly helping her along as she struggled with things that used to come naturally. He would have never given up on her.

So there was no way in hell she was going to give up on him.

Even if she had no idea where to begin.

Jemma was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the vacant lab until the doors had already slid shut behind her. She glanced around the Holotable, wondering if maybe he was reexamining the control box again, but the floor was bare.

"Fitz?" she called out, walking towards the back to check the supply room. Her voice echoed a few more times in the empty space, and no one answered her.

Jemma sighed, relieved that Fitz had decided on his own to check out for the night. But she lamented the extra cup of tea that would now go to waste.

She held the mugs carefully in her hands as she slowly made her way up the staircase, deciding that before she trekked back into the base she might as well grab a few extra jumpers from her bunk. Homerun wasn't terribly chilly, but Jemma had always liked having a little extra warmth, and with the colder weather on the way it would never hurt to have spare jumpers around.

But when she got into the common area, she froze in her tracks.

Someone was on the Bus.

She edged her way down the small hallway, unsure of what she was going to find. All she had by means of defense were two scalding cups of tea, but Jemma knew frightfully well that that was as good a defense as any. It turned out she didn't need to worry, though, because she immediately recognized the frustrated curses coming from Fitz's bunk.

"Fitz, what are you…" Jemma's voice faltered as she stood in front of his open doorway. "Doing?"

Fitz nearly jumped in surprise when he heard her behind him, and as he spun around, something fell out of his hands onto the bed. He looked like a deer that had been caught in the headlights of a car, his eyes widening as he glanced around the room. "J-Jemma," he stammered. "Uh…I was just…er…well, you see, I-"

But Jemma had already stepped into the bunk, setting the mugs on the shelf before picking up the crumpled tie that he'd tossed onto the bed. She looked between the piece of cloth, which was twisted and wrung out to the point of being nearly ripped apart, and Fitz, who was scratching the back of his head and tapping his foot on the floor.

"You haven't been wearing them," she murmured, trying to smooth out the wrinkles with her fingers. She vaguely recalled him saying something to Skye back at the Playground, before he'd remembered everything, about how he was pretty disinterested in the idea. Jemma had understood at the time, because Fitz hadn't really bothered with ties before the Academy. In fact, he'd only started putting one on every day after she'd insisted they would help him look more professional to their much older classmates. He'd complained about it at first, of course, but after a while they'd become a constant part of his daily appearance.

Since he'd recovered his memories, Jemma had just assumed he'd gotten used to their absence. But now she wasn't so sure.

"Is it because of-"

"Yeah," he replied quickly, still avoiding her gaze. "Yep, but-but it's fine, though," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not a big deal."

Jemma's heart ached at seeing his forced nonchalance, knowing that this was something that had probably been frustrating him for weeks. Without a word she set aside the wrinkled tie and went to open his wardrobe.

"Wha…wait, what…what are you…"

She ignored him, sifting through the collection until she found the one she was looking for. "This one matches that shirt better anyway," she said as she pulled it out.

"Wait," Fitz sighed, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose while his other hand gripped his waist tightly. "Jemma, just…just stop, all right? You don't have to-"

"Nonsense, Fitz," Jemma replied sternly, raising her eyebrows at him. "No one's ever going to take you seriously if you don't make an effort to dress up to your qualifications."

"Oh, very funny, Jemma," Fitz rolled his eyes, probably because those were the exact words she'd used eight years ago. He shook his head, looking down at the ground. "It's…the way it's supposed to…" He gestured out with his hands, as if there were an invisible tie between his fingers. "I can't get it to go the right…way, and I just…I can't figure out how," he finished, his voice breaking. "I don't know how."

Jemma stepped forward, taking one of his hands in hers. And when he met her gaze, a thousand questions in his eyes, she poured all of her answers into one response.

"Then let me show you," she said gently, giving his hand a small squeeze before she draped the tie carefully over his shoulders.

He didn't resist her as she worked, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time. She refused to rush her way through it, though, making sure the ends were positioned proportionately before slowly tying them together. When it was just right, she reached up to lift the ends of Fitz's collar and tightened the knot so that it sat just below the first button on his shirt.

"Is that too tight?" Jemma asked. She glanced up at him, and was caught off-guard by the intensity with which he was looking back at her, his expression a mixture of pain and surprise and something else she couldn't quite place. Something like…amazement? But no, that couldn't have been it.

"What?" he breathed distractedly, like he hadn't heard what she'd said.

"The-the tie," she said, clearing her throat and bizarrely feeling a blush on her cheeks. "Is it too-"

"Oh, no, no," he murmured, quickly shaking his head. "No, it's…it's fine, Jemma."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

Jemma managed to give him a smile before she reached around his neck to smooth down his collar. And she was about to step away, but as her hand brushed against his cheek, her eyes fell on the small amount of hair on his face.

"Oh," she gasped quietly, wondering once again how she could have been so stupid. "Is that…also because of-"

Fitz didn't pull away from her touch, but he couldn't meet her eyes anymore. "Uh…yeah," he finally sighed. "Yeah, but again, it's-"

"Do you want me to do it for you?" she asked.

"Jemma," he laughed, but she saw how upset he was, the tips of his ears turning red. "Jemma, don't be ridiculous-"

"No, I don't mind, Fitz," she insisted.

"Yeah, well I haven't quite reached that stage of desperation yet, okay?" he said sarcastically. He must have seen that she was being serious, though, because he softened his voice. "I actually think I'm starting to like it like this anyway," he shrugged.

Jemma couldn't really tell if he was being truthful or not. "All right," she conceded. "But if you change your mind-"

"I'll let you know," he whispered, looking in her eyes again with that same peculiar intensity she didn't understand. And she couldn't quite say when it happened, but all of a sudden she was painfully aware of just how close she was standing to him. She still had one hand on his tie and the other resting on his cheek, and in her head she was telling herself to pull away but for some maddeningly confusing reason she wasn't able to.

Somewhere around that time, she also became aware of her other senses, and she saw his eyes widen along with hers.

"Is that-"

"Something-"

"Burning?"

"Yeah," Fitz nodded before bolting out the door, Jemma following closely on his heels. "No, no, no," he cried, running his fingers through his hair as he entered the kitchen. "Oh, no, no, no."

"Fitz, what…" But Jemma stopped talking as soon as she saw the small fire, and she immediately ran to the wall to grab the extinguisher.

"Move, Fitz!" she yelled, pulling the pin and pressing down on the lever. He didn't get out of the way fast enough, though, so when she aimed the device at the base of the oven and released the extinguishing agent, he fell victim to getting splattered with the same sodium bicarbonate foam that ended up covering the entire wall.

Jemma stepped closer to the source as the flames died down, pressing down on the lever a couple extra times for good measure. When she was positive it was out, she stood there for a few seconds, panting heavily, the extinguisher still held tightly in her grip.

"Fitz!" she cried hysterically. "Who the  _bloody hell_  gave you permission to use the oven?"

Fitz turned to look at her, his eyes widened in fear. "Jemma," he said gently, his gaze flicking back and forth between her face and her hands. "Jemma, put the fire extinguisher down."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Fitz," she said in irritation, refusing to set it aside on principle (and stubbornness). "You nearly burned down the damn Bus."

"I did not!" he protested, placing his hands on his waist. "That was nothing, you and I have seen loads of worse-"

"But what were you even  _doing_  cooking in here, Fitz?" she asked exasperatedly. "Have you not had enough horrid experience to realize that you in the kitchen alone is an absolute  _disaster_  waiting to happen?"

Fitz wasn't really listening to her anymore, though, finding a pair of oven mitts and attempting to extract the culprit from amongst the foam.

"Fitz, you shouldn't…" Jemma began, but her admonition faded away as she looked at the burnt rectangle he dropped onto the stovetop. "Is that…did you…" She shook her head, even more confused than she'd been before. "Were you trying to  _bake_  something?"

He sighed as he leaned in close to inspect the smoldering pan. "Yeah, that's not gonna work," he muttered. " _But_ ," he grinned, holding up a finger. "I have a contingency plan."

"Fitz, what are you-"

But he'd already walked over to the area of the kitchen that wasn't covered in the extinguishing agent and used one of the tea towels to clean off his hands. He then searched through the foam near the stove, a look of triumph appearing on his face once he found what he was looking for. Jemma stared in bafflement at the small candle he was attempting to clean off.

"Fitz…"

"I'm not gonna light it, Jemma," he assured her, rolling his eyes. "I'm just trying to save as much of my botched-up plan as I can, all right?"

"But I don't even understand what you're-"

He ignored her, making his way over to one of the tables in the common area and retrieving a muffin that Jemma only now noticed had been placed there.

"Swiped this at breakfast this morning," Fitz explained, setting the muffin on the counter. "So it's probably a little stale. Didn't think I'd actually have to use it, but I guess I should've known this enterprise would've tanked." He carefully set the candle in the middle of the pastry, and then groaned, placing his hand on his forehead. "God, Jemma, I'm sorry, that…that looks bloody pathetic."

Jemma laughed nervously, utterly clueless as to what was going on. "Fitz, what on earth…"

He sighed again, looking over at her with a sad smile. "That night back at the Playground," he said. "When you found me on the bridge…and…and we talked about New York. I didn't know it at the time, but…that was it, wasn't it?"

And then Jemma suddenly understood. Why Fitz had wanted the Bus to himself for a few hours. The failed attempts at putting on a tie. The black ruins of what she realized was supposed to be a cake. It all made sense now. Because she remembered that night, too.

"Fitz," she shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. "Fitz, there's no way you could've known-"

"I know, Jemma," he insisted. "But that doesn't mean I still don't feel bad for not remembering."

She gave another weak laugh, but she was actually trying to fight back her tears again. Goodness, how many times had she cried in the last few days? It was getting out of hand. "We…we're practically fugitives fighting for our lives now, Fitz," she pointed out. "All right? Birthdays are not exactly a priority anymore."

The small smile was still on his face, but she saw the sadness in his eyes. "Now, that's not really true, though, is it?" he asked quietly. "I mean…" he scoffed, glancing away from her. "This time last year, did you even think you might not make it to your next birthday?"

Jemma pressed her lips tightly together, but one tear still managed to escape down her face. Fitz slid the muffin across the countertop. "You're alive," he told her simply. "We're alive. And I think  _that_  is more than sufficient cause for celebration, don't you?"

There was a long moment in which she just looked at him, not saying anything because she couldn't find the words, and hoping that despite everything he could still read her like he'd always been able to. Eventually she took a shaky breath before closing the distance between them. But when she did so, Fitz actually leaned away from her, gesturing towards the sodium bicarbonate foam that was all over him. "Jemma, I've got-"

"I don't care," she murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She felt him weakly try to resist her, but he must have realized that it was too late because he hesitantly returned her embrace, eventually resting his chin on her shoulder.

She didn't stay in his arms too long, just long enough for her to blink back her tears and quietly whisper, "Thank you."

He sighed against her. "Happy birthday, Jemma."

Jemma let out a small laugh as she pulled away. "You know it's not really my birthday anymore."

"Better late than never," he quipped, before reaching out his hand towards her hair. "Hang on, you've got a little-"

Jemma felt her head with her fingertips, realizing that along with getting the extinguishing agent all over her jumper, Fitz had also managed to transfer some onto her hair. "Oh, it's all right, Fitz, I need to wash it anyway," she said, and he quickly withdrew his hand. She cleared her throat, looking around the kitchen. "We should probably clean all this up first, though," she reasoned. "Or Coulson will have both of our heads."

"Oh, bloody hell, you're right," he muttered, scratching behind his ear as he took in the nearly destroyed space. Jemma stepped forward to start clearing off the stovetop, but Fitz gently placed his hands on her arms and tried to push her out of the kitchen. "No, no, I've got it, Jemma," he assured her. "It was my fault anyway."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fitz," Jemma rolled her eyes. "I'll stay and help. Goodness knows you'll probably miss a spot."

"Miss a spot?" Fitz repeated with a scoff. "Now who's being ridiculous?"

They worked in relative silence for the next thirty minutes or so, but with the two of them together it didn't take nearly as long as Jemma had anticipated. The oven took the most time to clean, but by the time they were finished Jemma didn't think it looked the worse for wear. There were a few scorch marks, but surely no one else would notice them, or at least she hoped they wouldn't.

Afterwards, she and Fitz found themselves sitting on the edge of the counter, their legs dangling over the side as they passed the muffin back and forth. Jemma felt exhausted in every sense of the word, but she was perfectly content, perhaps more content than she'd been in months.

It was her turn to tear off a bit of the pastry when Fitz broke the silence.

"I didn't eat the sandwich."

Jemma turned her head to look at him, and saw that he was staring off into the distance, a pained expression on his face. "What?" she asked in confusion.

He leaned back against the cabinets, folding his arms. "Back in Ossetia when Ward and I went in to deactivate the Overkill Device," he explained. "You made me that sandwich and when we got back you asked how it was and I…I told you it was delicious. And I'm sure it was, but…I actually didn't eat it."

Jemma fiddled with the remaining pieces of the muffin in her hands. "Oh," she replied, not really sure why he would have lied about something like that. "So…so it  _was_  too much aioli then?"

Fitz shook his head slowly, still staring off into space. "It was probably the absolute perfect amount of pesto aioli, Jemma," he sighed. "But we'll never know, because that HYDRA bastard threw the whole thing into a damn puddle." Jemma froze, uncertain about the direction the conversation had turned, but Fitz didn't wait for her to respond. "I should've known he wasn't to be trusted right then and there."

Part of her wanted to ask the circumstances under which Ward would have possibly thrown an entire sandwich out, but part of her didn't want to talk about him at all. It turned out she didn't need to address the subject, though, because all of a sudden Fitz started laughing under his breath.

"What are you giggling about over there?" she asked, nudging him as her own lips curled upwards.

"Oh, God, nothing," he said with another laugh, shaking his head. "I was just…well, he threw your sandwich into a puddle," he pointed out, as if that could possibly explain what was so amusing. "And then he…he threw us into…a  _really_   _big_  puddle."

Jemma's smile disappeared. "That's not funny, Fitz."

But for some strange reason he was still grinning. "It's a little funny, Jemma," he replied, his laughter dying down. Jemma decided to chalk up his weird behavior to his lack of sleep. He'd always thought the oddest things were hilarious when he hadn't slept enough.

They were quiet again for a few more moments, and she passed him the last bite of the muffin, not having much of an appetite anymore. And maybe it was his weird confession that prompted her to tell him, or maybe it was because she wanted a change of subject, but the words were out of her mouth before she had a time to think about them.

"Ellie almost drowned when we were kids."

Jemma wasn't looking at Fitz, but she felt him tense up next to her, and all trace of amusement was gone when he responded. "What?" he whispered.

She sighed, realizing she had no choice but to explain now, and glanced down at her hands. "We were out on the pond near our house," she murmured. "Mum and Dad had left for work, but school had gotten cancelled because of snow and she wanted to go. I tried to tell her no but…you know Ellie, she would've gone on her own with or without me."

Jemma tried to push past the pain in her chest, but she was shaking as she took another breath. "She…um…she fell through the ice, and…and I managed to pull her out, but she wasn't breathing for a long time, and…well, she's fine now, obviously, I…I somehow figured out CPR even though I couldn't have been more than eight years old at the time…"

Her words faded away, and she suddenly dreaded Fitz's response. Why had she told him? He had so many other things to worry about at the moment. He didn't need to be bothered with something that had happened almost twenty years before.

"Jemma…" he began in a strangled voice. She continued to stare at her hands.

"Jemma," he said more forcefully, sliding off the counter so he could stand in front of her. He reached out for one of her hands, willing her to look at him. And the horrified expression on his face, along with the tears in his eyes, made her immediately regret her foolish decision. "How…how come this is the first time I'm hearing this?"

"Fitz, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset-"

"No, but Jemma,  _how come I didn't know about this_?"

Jemma shook her head. "I didn't talk about it to anyone, Fitz, not even Ellie until we got her back from HYDRA," she insisted. "I've never told our parents, my S.O., no one, all right?" But then she realized she had to correct herself. "Well…Skye figured it out, but that's-"

"But-but you…" he stammered, growing more distressed. "And…and I…just…we were down there and-"

"I didn't tell you," she assured him. "I didn't want to make it worse than it already was, Fitz. We thought we were going to die."

"Yeah, but…but if you would've told me-"

"Would you honestly have done anything different?" she asked gently, already knowing the answer.

Fitz's shoulders slumped with defeat. "No," he mumbled. "But I probably would've at least felt bad about it."

Jemma smiled at him. "Well, we couldn't have that, now could we?"

He didn't smile back, and he actually looked deep in thought as he moved to lean up against the counter again. "You know…" he began slowly. "What happened down there was my choice, right?"

"Fitz…"

"No, I know you, Jemma," he interrupted. "And I know you probably spent over half your life blaming yourself for what happened to Ellie."

"But-"

"Am I wrong, Jemma?"

She closed her mouth, letting her silence speak for itself.

"Yeah, we're gonna put a stop to that right now," he sighed, turning to face her. "Jemma. I did what I did because I wanted to, and there was nothing you could've done to change my mind."

"You shouldn't have had to make that call on your own, though, Fitz."

"Yes, but I did," he argued. "And it was my decision, and it was not your fault, and you do not owe me one bloody thing, do you understand?"

Jemma tried to choose her words delicately. "Fitz, you're making this into something it isn't," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not trying to help you because I feel some kind of obligation to. I want to help you because…because you're important to me, all right?"

The smile that spread across his face already made her wish she had worded it differently. "Oh, I'm  _important_  to you?" he asked.

"Please, Fitz," she groaned. "I should've known you'd let it go to your head. Of course you're important to me, you idiot."

"No, no, this is great, this is great," he chuckled.

"Oh, brother," Jemma muttered, immediately sliding off the counter and heading back towards the base.

But Fitz was on her heels the whole time. "'Oh, Fitz, look at this dead raccoon I've brought into the lab,'" he said in an unnaturally high voice she assumed was supposed to be an imitation of her own. "'Now, Simmons, this is the third time this week. Don't you think that's a bit excessive?' 'Nonsense, Fitz, I'm having dissection withdrawals.' 'Yes, but we talked about this, Simmons. It's becoming a problem now.' 'Oh, bother, Fitz, why should I listen to you?' 'I hate to have to tell you this, Simmons, but I'm important to you.'"

Jemma did her best to keep her stern expression on her face, but her resolve crumbled as he kept going, raising his voice again. "'Sir, I'm here to formally request an assistant for us in the lab.' 'Agent Fitz, is there any particular reason why Agent Simmons here is asking me for a monkey?' 'Well, besides the fact that it is an excellent suggestion and a request you should thoughtfully consider, it's because I'm important to her, sir.'"

And even though it drove her up the wall, Jemma couldn't have said she was mad. Because for a moment, it was like having the old Fitz back.

Of course, he was still struggling. He would probably be struggling for a very long time, she had no idea what the future held for them or for S.H.I.E.L.D., and every day would be uncertain. But he was there, and she was with him, and he was starting to talk to her again, and maybe that was all that mattered. She still didn't know how to help him, or even if she could. As they bantered on the way back into the base, though, she kept glancing at the tie around his neck.

It wasn't much. But it was a start.


	9. Chapter 9

Ward had enough life experience in him to know never to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if that gift came from S.H.I.E.L.D. and more specifically if that gift came from Coulson. Less than a day into his new living arrangements, though, and Ward didn't really care what it was they undoubtedly wanted from him.

It wasn't a picnic, by any means. The only people he had contact with were his guards, and most of the time they just left him alone, a constant but silent presence. The food was still pretty awful, but at least they were letting him use silverware now, even if it was just a plastic spork. The rooms he had access to were few, basically a simple fitness center (consisting of a mat, a punching bag, a treadmill, and very pointedly, no weights), a bathroom with a shower, and his own sleeping quarters.

But it was a hell of a lot better than that cell he'd been existing in before.

And it wasn't like he didn't know what Coulson was doing. He understood perfectly well the whole point of giving him more freedom as some kind of reward for what he'd done. The information he'd provided had been proven reliable, so naturally he'd be susceptible to share HYDRA intelligence under more relaxed circumstances. There were a few flaws in Coulson's plan, but since Ward knew what his alternatives were, he decided to just take his chances and make the most of what he had.

He'd just settled in his room for the night (ten minutes early, to be on the safe side), and was about to start reading the historical novel that had not-so-mysteriously been placed on his desk, when he heard a hesitant knock on the door.

Ward immediately sat up on his bed, glancing around the room in confusion before he realized there wasn't really anything he had to straighten up. Why would he have had to clean anyways? Who was actually bothering to knock on his door? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was becoming painfully obvious how long it'd been since he'd had company.

Or at least company that gave him the courtesy of knocking.

"Uh…come-come in?" he stammered, wincing at his utter lack of social ability. What the hell was wrong with him?

For a while, there was no sound on the other side of the door, and Ward briefly worried whether or not he'd been heard in the first place. He opened his mouth to try again, but before he could speak he heard a soft click. And then there she was, right in his doorway.

"Skye," he whispered, swinging his legs off the bed.

She held up a hand. "Don't get up," she said quietly, and even though she still had the gun strapped to her thigh, she didn't sound half as cold as she had the last time he'd spoken to her. He placed his hands on the bed frame to keep himself in one spot, not wanting to make any sudden movements in case she decided to leave and never come back.

He was more relieved than he'd thought was possible to see that she looked okay, especially considering the circumstances. She still had a few cuts and bruises adorning her arms and face, and her wrist was carefully wrapped in a bandage, but other than looking a little underfed she seemed to be handling her recovery well. Not that that really surprised him. He'd always known she was strong, that she had the potential to be a great field agent. But what she'd gone through hadn't exactly been the normal S.H.I.E.L.D. mission.

Ward waited for her to speak, still in a state of shock at seeing her there at all. Not only had she been tortured to the point of being buried alive just days before, but there was also no reason for her to ever speak to him again. He didn't want to push her into talking, though, so he waited.

After a few agonizing seconds, she finally took a breath. "Coulson wanted me to tell you that we don't have a lot of resources right now," she said, taking a cautious step forward and placing what looked like two rolls of gauze on his desk. "So if you could, like, not rip up the sheets anymore, he'd appreciate it."

Ward stared at the rolls in bewilderment until he remembered the incident on the Bus. And even though the punching bag in his fitness room was much easier on the knuckles than the hard metal of the Cage, he had to admit it would be nice to have proper material to wrap his hands with. He didn't really know what to say in response, though, so he gave Skye a nod to tell her he understood.

She avoided his eyes, turning back around to exit the room. But something still nagged at him.

"Coulson could've sent anybody to tell me that," he pointed out, making sure to stay seated on the bed. "Why are you really here?"

He saw her freeze, one hand curled into a fist while the other tapped her leg, as if she were having an inner argument with herself. He held his breath until she faced him again, her arms crossed. She still couldn't look him in the eye.

"You knew where to find me," she said plainly. It wasn't a question, but he knew she expected an answer anyways.

"I…had my suspicions," he admitted, unsure how much Coulson had told her.

"Because of Raina."

So Coulson  _had_  told her. Well, that was probably for the best. Ward still knew it was a delicate situation, though, so he made sure to keep his voice gentle. But he also knew that if he wanted her to listen to him, he had to be honest with her. "Yes," he replied. "Because of Raina."

She looked surprised, like she hadn't expected him to be so forthcoming. "So…" she continued, dragging her words out. "You also know…about-"

"Your parents," he nodded, and when he saw the slight shudder in her shoulders, he had to dig his heels into the ground to remain calm. "It was them, wasn't it?" he asked in a tight voice. "They were the ones that hurt you?"

But Ward must have crossed a line, because she set her jaw again. "That's not why I'm here."

"You don't want to talk about it," he noted, seeing how distressed she actually was under her false indifference. "I understand," he assured her. " _Believe_  me, Skye. I understand probably more than-"

"You saved my life," she interrupted, once again in the form of a statement. She met his eyes for the first time since she'd entered the room, and even though she wasn't questioning him, Ward knew that this was the real reason she'd made the trip down to his quarters. She'd probably backtracked a hundred times before she'd even made it to his door, if he had to guess.

He tried to put as much sincerity into his words as possible. "You don't have to thank me," he told her.

"I'm not thanking you," she replied a little too quickly. "That's…that's not what this is. I am…simply…acknowledging the fact that…even though you probably had some twisted or-or misguided reason for what you did, you still managed to do something that wasn't…completely…terrible."

Ward couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like smiling, but at that moment he had to work very hard at keeping the grin off of his face. Because he knew she still hated him. He could tell. For a second, though, the way she was talking reminded him of the Skye he'd met what felt like a lifetime ago, the Skye who'd hated him for what she didn't know about him instead of what she did. They'd both changed since then, but he could see the remnants of her old self peeking through the cracks of her new armor. And despite everything, it gave him hope. He didn't think he had the capacity for hope anymore.

She cleared her throat, apparently done with her speech. "So…that's all I wanted to say," she concluded, folding her arms and looking like she was about ready to bolt out of there.

Ward knew he didn't have much time left. "I know you don't trust me, Skye," he said softly.

"You're right," she agreed, the stern distaste returning to her expression. "I don't."

He powered through, needing her to understand. "But I didn't do what I did for your forgiveness," he assured her.

"Good," she replied. "Because otherwise you would've just wasted your time."

"I did it..." he continued, "because whether you believe me or not…I care about you." He glanced down at his hands, not wanting to see the judgment in her eyes. "And you didn't deserve to die," he added quietly. "Not like that anyway."

"Oh?" he heard her ask in mock surprise. "And how exactly  _do_  I deserve to die?"

"What?" he muttered, glancing up to see her looking at him with disgust. "No!" he protested, his eyes widening. "I-I didn't mean it like that, I…I just meant…when you're older, like…naturally in your sleep or…whatever." He shook his head, realizing he was just digging a deeper hole for himself by the second. "You know, just-"

" _Wow_ ," she laughed, and in the midst of his embarrassment he was surprised that she didn't sound very bitter. "You just  _really_  know how to win 'em over, don't you, Ward?"

It was the way she said his name that made him pause. It was like she was teasing him again, teasing him for being socially awkward, teasing him for not knowing how to talk to girls, teasing him as if she'd never had cause to hate him. But in the moments that followed, her smile faltered, and Ward knew it would never be like that again. He'd done too much to her.

She had her hand on the doorknob when he spoke up again.

"You have no reason to forgive me, Skye," he said, hanging onto the last string of hope that maybe she'd believe him. "And I know I've lost your trust in me, probably for forever." She didn't turn around, but she was still there, hovering at the door. "But even if I never see you again…I'm still going to do whatever it takes to earn it back."

Her reply was quiet, nearly a whisper she breathed before she left the room. He heard it, though. He heard it as clear as day. And it was the words she spoke that made him think that maybe, just maybe, that hope wasn't completely gone.

"We'll see."

* * *

Fitz finally twisted the last row into place and set the Cube on the table in front of him. "Done," he said before breathing out a sigh of relief. "What was that?" he asked, nudging Jemma's arm.

Jemma had been in the middle of talking to Skye, but she still managed to stop the timer she was holding lazily in her fingertips. "That was…" she answered slowly, inspecting the watch, "five minutes and thirty-seven seconds." Her face broke into a smile. "Oh, well done, Fitz!"

Fitz groaned, pushing the Rubik's Cube to the other side of the table so he could rest his head on his folded arms. "Don't patronize me, Simmons," he grumbled. "That was awful and you know it."

"Still haven't solved one, by the way," he heard Skye comment. "So, you know, just saying."

Fitz remained silent, not wanting to hurt Skye's feelings but still pretty upset with himself. He used to be able to solve the puzzle in under twenty seconds, thirty if he was having a rough day. It used to be that he could simply study the Cube for a few moments and easily see in his head how the colors needed to be arranged in order to correctly align them all. Now, he had to carefully think through each step, moving the rows hesitantly instead of with his previous assurance.

It was just one of the many stupidly frustrating things he had to deal with now, to the point where he thought he was going mad.

But he felt her hand on his shoulder, and it helped calm the panic a little. "No one is patronizing you, Fitz," Jemma said gently, leaning in close so he could hear her. "This is progress. You'll get there, all right? You just need to be patient for a little while, that's all."

Fitz sighed into his arms, gathering all of his happy thoughts before turning his head to look at her. But it wasn't hard to return her smile, not when she was looking at him like that. He nodded, letting her know he heard her, and she gave his shoulder a small squeeze before returning to her food.

"Now eat," she ordered, reaching around him to grab the plate he'd pushed aside earlier. "You promised."

He sighed again, sitting up as the sandwich was placed in front of him. "All right, give me another one," he said, halfheartedly picking at his food.

Across from Jemma, Skye leaned over to the side of her plate and flipped through a few pages of the textbook that was lying open on the table. "Uh…okay," she cleared her throat. "If an electronic device has a resistance of a hundred and fifty upside-down horseshoes-"

"What?" Jemma interrupted in confusion.

"She means ohms," Trip smiled, glancing over at the book.

"Again, didn't go to college," Skye muttered, scooting a little away from him. "It looks like a horseshoe, so I called it a horseshoe. God, just let me read the question." She cleared her throat. "If an electronic device has a resistance of a hundred and fifty…"

"Ohms," Trip supplied.

"Whatever," Skye continued. "And it's designed to operate at fifty-five milliamps, how would you protect it against sudden surges in current?"

Fitz simply stared at her. "You call that a hard question?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't hear an answer, Fitz."

"Well, you'd just put an inductor in series with the device, obviously," he answered with a scoff. "Er…well, after the power turned on, you wouldn't want the current to…to go over seven point five milliamps in the first hundred microseconds, so…so you'd want an inductance of…" He closed his eyes, placing a few fingers on his forehead in concentration.

"Use the paper, Fitz," Jemma said softly.

It took a lot of his willpower not to snap at her, knowing that she was only trying to help. He begrudgingly pulled over the small notebook he had on the table and scribbled in the calculation. "A hundred and twenty millihenries," he murmured, tossing aside the pen and rubbing his eyelids. Fitz had been through some fairly mortifying experiences, but he didn't think anything could top the humiliation he felt at no longer being as smart as he'd once been. What the hell was he doing there?

"I mean, obviously," Skye said sarcastically, flipping to the back of the book to check his answer. He heard the smile in her voice and didn't understand why she was so amused. "Seriously, Fitz, I don't know what you're so upset about, but that was amazing. Jeez, how'd you do that so fast?"

Fitz rolled his eyes as he lowered his hands. "It's basic algebra, Skye."

She glared at him. "Fine," she huffed, turning the pages to the front of the book. "You're getting a conceptual question then."

"Oh, for bloody Michael Faraday's sake, Skye," he groaned.

"Nope," she shook her head, scouring the pages. "You asked for it."

Fitz kept his annoyed comments to himself, because he knew Skye wouldn't relent until he'd answered the question to her satisfaction. "Okay," she smiled triumphantly, leaning back so she could rest the book on the edge of the table. "What is the first law of thermodynamics?"

In the pause that followed, Fitz could hear his own heartbeat hammering loudly in his chest, and next to him he felt Jemma go still. He didn't look over at her, but he could see that she was staring at her lap, probably waiting for him to answer the question. Across the table, Skye's face fell. "Is that…is that too obvious again?" she asked uncertainly, glancing between the two of them.

"No," Fitz shook his head, clearing his throat. "No, um…well, the first law is that..." He took a deep breath, unsure why it was so hard for him to get the words out. "That no energy in the universe is created or…or destroyed."

Skye looked a little confused, but she gave him a smirk after a few seconds. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"All right," Trip cut in, grabbing the book next to him. "My turn now. I think he needs some bio review."

Fitz was about to argue that his focus would be much better spent on his own field, but before he could open his mouth, Coulson entered the kitchen and immediately walked up to their table.

"Agent Fitz," he said, skipping the pleasantries of greeting everyone else. "Could I have a word please?"

Fitz glanced up at him in mild terror, the memories of every stupid thing he'd ever done flashing through his head. "Er…yes, sir," he nodded. "What is it?"

"In private," Coulson clarified, turning around to head out into the corridor.

Fitz scrambled out of his chair to follow him, feeling a burn on his cheeks as he prepared himself for whatever punishment he was undoubtedly facing.

"Ooh, somebody's in  _trouble_ ," Skye sang from behind him. He tried to ignore her taunts, but she was probably right.

He'd been following Coulson for about a minute when he couldn't take the suspense anymore. "Sir, if this is about the fire, I can assure you-"

Coulson glanced back at him, his brow furrowed as he pushed open a door. "What fire?"

Fitz wracked his brain for a response that wouldn't completely give himself away. "Uh…did I say fire? That's funny, because what I  _meant_  to say was that-" He stopped talking, realizing that Coulson had led him not into his office but Homerun's hangar. "Er…sir?" he asked. "Why are we…"

But Coulson simply smirked at him, walking over to one corner of the hangar, where a very damaged red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette forlornly sat.

"Finally picked her up from L.A.," Coulson explained, running his hand over one of the cracked wing mirrors and giving Fitz a sad smile. "Cost a fortune at the place we left her," he sighed. "She sustained a lot of damage from Deathlok and Ward. Her flight capabilities are shot, and the flamethrowers are…operational, but not stable enough that I would try to use them. GPS still works though, which is…weird." He folded his arms, leaning against the car as he turned to face Fitz. "So what do you think?"

Fitz stared at him blankly. "Uh…what do…what do I think about-"

"Can we get her fixed up again?"

"Oh," Fitz said, feeling like an idiot. He slowly made his way around the car, examining the damage with his hand on his chin. "I mean, it might take a while, because you'll have to replace most of the tech and readjust the rotors to get her flying again, but…sure," he shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"Good," Coulson replied, giving him a nod before walking back towards the base. "I'll expect weekly reports on your progress."

Fitz opened and closed his mouth in panic. "Uh…sir?" he asked, starting to follow him. "Are you-"

"Yes, Fitz," Coulson sighed, turning around. "I'm revoking the no touching rule for you temporarily. Just don't abuse it."

Fitz let out a nervous laugh. "That's…that's not what I meant. I mean are you sure this is the best-"

"You're the only one I trust with this," Coulson said simply. "Are you up for the job?"

Fitz stood there in silence for a few seconds, wondering how Coulson could possibly think he was capable of fixing one of his most prized possessions. But he didn't want to disappoint him, either. "Yes, sir," he answered quietly. "But I'm just not sure-"

"Then I'll expect you to get it done," Coulson interrupted. He began to head back inside, but turned around just as he reached the doors. "Oh, and Agent Fitz?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you want a cake, just…go over to the bakery or something," Coulson said. "Or leave it somebody else? We've only got one mobile command center."

Fitz's eyes widened. "I…er…"

"Come on, Fitz," Coulson scoffed. "I'm the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. now. And the Bus has security cameras. Did you really think I wasn't gonna notice?"

Thankfully Coulson didn't wait for a response from Fitz before disappearing into the corridor. Fitz ran a hand through his hair as he let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. "You all can come out now," he said loudly. "You're not being discreet at all, by the way."

Three heads peeked around one of the corners, and if Fitz had been more inclined, he might have burst out laughing at how sheepish they looked. They all stepped forward to gather around the car while Fitz began making closer inspections.

"Oh, my God, Fitz, this is huge!" Skye squealed.

Fitz almost smiled at her excitement, but his amusement faded as soon as he saw her hand reach out towards one of the handles. "Don't," he admonished her, briefly tapping her wrist and thankful it wasn't the one she'd broken. "Don't touch Lola."

He saw her mouth hang open in shock, but he quickly addressed Jemma and Trip. "In fact, all of you should take at least two steps back, all right?"

"We won't bother you, Fitz," Jemma promised.

He straightened his back, the sheer magnitude of the task he'd been given starting to hit him as he began to see how much damage the car had seen. "Jemma," he murmured. "I don't think I can-"

He felt her hand brush against his elbow. "You underestimate yourself, Fitz," she whispered. "Coulson  _knows_  you can do it. And so do I."

Somehow, even though her words were encouraging, Fitz didn't feel any more confident about the situation. He slowly walked up to the car, running a finger along a deep crack in the door. "I don't understand why Coulson's so sentimental about this thing," he said quietly. "I mean…right now, it's just a car. Can't really do much of anything anymore, and the effort it'd take to fix it would probably be better spent somewhere else, yeah?"

He turned to Jemma. "You said it yourself, Simmons. We're basically fugitives fighting for our lives right now. It's times like these you cut your losses."

And the sadness in her eyes told him that she knew he wasn't just talking about the car.

But it was actually Trip who replied, and Fitz realized that he'd understood too. "Nah, man," he smiled, shaking his head. "It's times like these you stick with the guy you believe in."

* * *

He quietly made his way down the empty hallways, not exactly aimlessly but not really with much of a plan either. His nights were mostly like this, wandering Homerun's corridors for a few hours after his shift in Ward's quarters. Sometimes he got in a few hours of sleep, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he resisted the urge to fill an entire notebook with the strange symbols he still didn't understand. Sometimes he couldn't fight against it. It was always pretty much the same.

He knew he needed sleep, though. Not only was everyone constantly asking him if he was okay, he was starting to feel the exhaustion in every muscle of his body. And yet every night, he lay there in his bed, the symbols flashing across his mind, the unsettling static ringing in his ears, keeping him awake for hours.

Was he going crazy? He really didn't know anymore. It sure seemed like it.

The thought terrified him, more than he would ever want to admit. And he couldn't tell anyone, because he knew what they would all think. Hell, he was thinking it too. How Garrett had done the same exact thing. How he'd carved the same weird symbols into the wall, eventually succumbing to the madness that was now threatening Coulson. It was absolutely terrifying.

Who would trust a madman to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Coulson wrestled with that very question every night.

Without knowing what he was doing, Coulson found himself in the hangar, wandering around the Bus. He still wasn't used to the new office at Homerun, so sometimes it was therapeutic for him to get work done in his room on the plane, or to shred up the thousands of sheets he'd adorned with his unintelligible scribbles.

He was just about to head towards the staircase when he heard a strange noise coming from the Bus's comm room. He checked his watch in confusion before reaching for his ICER, confident that no one should have had a good reason to be on the plane at three in the morning. But when he rounded the corner of the room, he lowered the pistol.

The lights weren't turned on, but the glow from the Holocom illuminated the room. Symbols flashed across the screen in the back, the same symbols that had been haunting him for months, symbols that now surrounded him on all sides, reflected in the glass windows and covering the walls. Skye was there, too, but she didn't pay any attention to him. Dozens of papers were scattered around her, and she scrawled something on one before turning her focus back to the screen. He didn't understand what she was doing, but her hands were flying across the keys, and various parts of the symbols lit up systematically.

"Skye?" he asked quietly, hoping he wouldn't startle her.

She turned her head to look at him, but her eyes were out of focus, as if she weren't really seeing him there. And when she spoke, it sent a chill down his spine. Because even though her behavior was scaring him, it was something he'd been waiting to hear for a very long time.

"I know what it means."

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me during this crazy ride of a story. Five months, almost 130,000 words, hours of research, and countless tears later, and I'm finally finished. I started this the day of the season one finale, and even though I didn't finish it before the season 2 premiere, it has been such a thrill to get my predictions and hopes out there. I really can't thank you enough for all the support and encouraging comments I've had in writing this. It's bittersweet to end it, but it's also kind of a huge relief. So really, thank you thank you thank you! :)
> 
> Shout out to my sister Chloe for 1) being my beta reader, 2) giving me encouragement when I desperately needed it, and 3) lending her amazing voice to the soundtrack. You're the best! :)
> 
> I didn't explicitly state it, but the treatment Skye underwent was supposed to be a reference to Terrigenesis. In fact, the title was supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint, with more than one meaning thrown in there (Genesis/Terra).
> 
> Also, to the guest who called me out on it, yes, that was a Toy Story reference in chapter 3. I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Below is the track listing for the soundtrack, which can be found on 8tracks (under the username msdevindanielle). These are just a collection of songs that I was inspired by while writing this. It's in some semblance of a chronological order, but most of the songs can be applied to more than one scene/character, so feel free to make your own interpretations.
> 
> Genesis
> 
> 1\. Marvel Studios Fanfare - Brian Tyler
> 
> 2\. What the Water Gave Me - Florence and the Machine
> 
> 3\. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) - Emily Browning
> 
> 4\. Shipwrecked - Shane Alexander
> 
> 5\. Get Up - Barcelona
> 
> 6\. Don't You (Forget About Me) - Chloe Elizabeth
> 
> 7\. Yellow - Coldplay
> 
> 8\. Iris - Goo Goo Dolls
> 
> 9\. Comes and Goes (In Waves) - Greg Laswell
> 
> 10\. Medicine - Daughter
> 
> 11\. Creep - Scala & Kolacny Brothers
> 
> 12\. Only You - Matthew Perryman Jones
> 
> 13\. Easier to Lie - Aqualung
> 
> 14\. Start of Time - Gabrielle Aplin
> 
> 15\. Highway to Hell - AC/DC
> 
> Terra
> 
> 1\. First Floor People - Barcelona
> 
> 2\. Running Up That Hill - Placebo
> 
> 3\. Rubik's Cube - Athlete
> 
> 4\. Wicked Game - Phillip Phillips
> 
> 5\. Break Me Down - Red
> 
> 6\. Hurt - Johnny Cash
> 
> 7\. The Mechanic - Brian Tyler
> 
> 8\. Save You - Matthew Perryman Jones
> 
> 9\. I Won't Let You Go - Snow Patrol
> 
> 10\. The Final Battle Begins - Tyler Bates
> 
> 11\. Salvation - Gabrielle Aplin
> 
> 12\. Battleships - Daughtry
> 
> 13\. Fix You - Coldplay
> 
> 14\. I Won't Let You Go - James Morrison
> 
> 15\. On Your Side - SafetySuit
> 
> Thank you again from the bottom of my heart!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> MsDevinDanielle


End file.
